THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MACON  MOORE. 


SOUTHEEN    DETECTIVE, 


By  JUDSON  E.  TAYLOE, 


AUTHOR   OF 


"GIPSY  BLAIR,"  "THE  INDIAN   DETECTIVE,"  Etc. 


NEW  YORK: 
J.  S.  OGILVIE  &  COMPANY, 

25  Rose  Street. 


Copyright,  1881. 
BY  STREET  &  SMITH. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.— A  LIVING  MAN'S  DEATH-PLATE 19 

II.— A  STRANGE  DISCOVERY 22 

III.— THE  MAN  IN  A  LONG  CLOAK 25 

IV.— ONE  MAN  DEFIES  A  DOZEN 28 

V.— OPENING  UP  A  DEATH- TRAIL 30 

VI.— A  ROGUE  UNMASKED 33 

VII.— A  MOST  EXTRAORDINARY  RUSE 36 

VIII.— SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  QIIR  HERO 39 

IX.— A  RETURN  SHOT.  ....*. 42 

X.— ONE  TO  TEN 44 

XI.— IN  A  "PEACEFUL"  DISGUISE  BUT.  BELLIGERENT  MOOD 47 

XII.— MACON  MOORE'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  NIGHT  RIDERS 50 

XIII.— COLONEL  YENNI  GETS  THE  NEWS 53 

XI V.— A  SMALL  FIGHT  WITH  A  RED  MAN 55 

XV.— A  STRANGE  TABLEAU 59 

XVI.— SURROUNDED  BY  FOES 61 

XVII.— THE  DETECTIVE  RECOGNIZED 64 

XVIII.— COLONEL  YENNI'S  DISCOVERY 67 

XIX.— PREPARING  FORA  THIRD  STARTLING  FEAT 70 

XX.— ON  THE  ROAD  TO  THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH 73 

XXI.— MACON  MOORE  WINS  BY  COOLNESS 77 

XXI r.—  THE  DETECTIVE  IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH 80 

XXIIL— PREPARING  FOR  ANOTHER  GREAT  FEAT 83 

XXIV.— OUR  HERO  IN  His  GREATEST  ROLE 86 

XXV.—-  I  AM  MACON  MOORE" 89 

XXVL— THE  DETECTIVE  BROUGHT  TO  BAY 92 

XXVII.— NUMBER  NINE'S  PERIL 94 

XXVIII.— ANOTHER  NEW  DISGUISE 97 

XXIX.— PICKING  UP  THE  POINTS 100 

XXX.— COLONEL  YENNI  RECEIVES  A  VISITOR 103 

8             XXXI.— A  RIDER'S  BOASTS...                     105 
XXXII.— LEADING  FOR  A  TRAIL.... 108 

^,          XXXIII.— A  STARTLING  DISCOVERY Ill 

XXXIV.— MACON  MOORE  IN  A  CORNER 114 

XXXV.— OUR  HERO  GETS  OUT  OF  A  CORNER  AND  TURNS  TUETABLES.H? 

XXXVL— THE  PURSUIT...  119 

XXXVII.-lN  A  DILEMMA 12 

XXXVII I.— AN    EXTJi AORDINARY  ANTAGONIST 125 

XXXIX.-AT  His  MERCY 128 

XL.— MASTER  OF  THE  FIELD 13 

XLT.— AN  EVENTFUL  MOMENT 13 

<  XLTI.— THROWING  OFF  THE  DISGUISE 13 

XLlir.— ANOTHER  VICTORY  FOR  THE  DETECTIVE 138 

XLIV.— THE  SECRET  PASSAGE 14 

XLV.— TH  E  ESCAPE 144 

XLVT.— LUCY'S  DISAPPEARANCE...  146 

XLVIL— RESCUED 149 

XLVIII.— THE  DETECTIVE'S  HOPE 152 

XLIX.— A  WEIRD  SCENE 155 

L.— THE  WORK  DONE. 158 


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MACON    MOOKE, 

THE    SOUTHERN    DETECTIVE. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

A  LIVING  MAN'S   DEATH-PLATE. 

"Whoa,  there,  Dandy!  whoa!  what's  the  matter  with  you,  old 
boy?  Whoa,  there,  whoa!" 

A  horseman  had  been  riding  along  a  mountain  road  in  the 
wildest  district  in  the  State  of  Georgia. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  a  wild  storm  was  raging.  The 
lightning  flashes  came  bright  and  quick,  followed  by  terrific 
peals  of  thunder. 

The  rider  had  been  urging  his  horse  forward,  and  the  spirited 
animal  had  dashed  ahead  over  the  road  at  a  mad  rate,  when  sud 
denly  he  came  to  a  dead  halt,  planted  his  fore-feet  firmly  in  the 
ground,  and  throwing  his  ears  forward,  presented  a  perfect 
picture  of  equine  terror. 

The  rider  was  evidently  not  only  an  excellent  horseman,  but  a 
man  of  iron  nerve,  as  he  hardly  moved  in  his  saddle  when  the 
horse  came  to  such  a  sudden  stop,  and  there  was  not  the  slight 
est  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  quietly,  biit  firmly,  urged  his  steed 
forward. 

Finding  that  urging  did  not  serve  the  purpose,  the  rider  re 
sorted  to  more  severe  measures,  and  plunging  his  spurs  into  the 
animal's  flanks,  exclaimed: 

"On  there,  you  coward!    Forward,  I  say!" 

The  animal  backed,  reared,  and  plunged,  and  snorted  in  the 
most  violent  manner. 

"  What  on  earth  has  frightened  him?"  muttered  the  rider,  as 
he  buried  the  spurs  still  deeper  into  the  flanks  of  the  frightened 
beast,  and  thus  tried  to  force  him  forward. 


20  MACON  MOORE, 

The  animal  became  more  frantic  and  furious,  when  his  rider 
exclaimed: 

"  What  has  got  into  the  beast?  He  must  have  seen  something 
extraordinai'y  to  act  in  this  way!"' 

Macon  Moore,  the  great  Southern  detective,  well  knew  the 
disposition  of  the  horse.  Both  horse  and  rider  had  often  been 
in  perilous  positions,  and  the  former  had  never  quailed  before. 

The  horseman  leaned  forward  over  his  horse's  neck  and  peered 
through  the  darkness  to  discover  what  had  caused  such  a  display 
of  fear. 

Suddenly  a  brighter  flash  of  lightning  than  any  that  had  pre 
ceded  it  came,  and  our  hero  caught  a  momentary  glance  of  an 
object  that  caused  his  own  blood  to  turn  cold. 

It  certainly  must  have  been  a  startling  sight  that  could  cause 
one  nerve  of  the  iron  frame  of  Macon  Moore  to  quiver. 

Right  before  our  hero's  path  lay  a  new  coffin. 

It  was  this,  weird  symbol  of  death  that  had  caused  the  horse  to 
rear  and  prance  with  frantic-  fury. 

In  an  instant  the  bold  rider  was  out  of  his  saddle.  As  he 
struck  the  ground,  an  observer  would  have  noticed  that  Macon 
Moore  was  not  a  man  of  large  stature  or  stout  frame;  and  yet 
later  events  will  prove  that  he  WHS  a  fellow  possessed  of  almost 
superhuman  strength  and  nerves  of  steel. 

The  man  never  lived  whose  personal  appearance  served  as  a 
more,  perfect  mask  to  his  real  powers,  both  mental  and  physical. 

Macon  Moore,  the  detective,  was  a  true  type  of  a  genuine, 
hot-blooded,  cultured  Southerner. 

He  was  of  slender  build  and  of  medium  height,  possessed 
small,  classic  features,  a  clear,  girl-like  blue  eye  flashing  under 
a  white,  smooth  forehead — the  latter  fringed  by  light  hair. 

This  extraordinai'y  man  possessed  certain  peculiar  physical 
advantages  that  enabled  him  to  successfully  assume  disguises 
that  no  other  man  would  dare  attempt. 

A  person  coming  into  his  presence  would  set  him  down  men 
tally  as  a  rather  pretty,  effeminate  young  gentleman,  who 
had  just  escaped  being  born  a  woman;  and  yet  some  of  the 
most  desperate  criminals  in  the  South  and  Southwest  would 
rather  have  faced  in  combat  a  grizzly  bear  than  this  delicate- 
appearing  man. 

The  moment  the  detective  had  dismounted  he  managed  to 
quiet,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  restless  fury  of  his  steed. 

ing  allayed  the  terror  of  his  horse,  the  detective  drew  his 
masked  lantern,  and,  with  his  bridle  swung  across  his  arm,  he 
advanced  toward  the  death-casket. 

A  most  thrilling  discovery  fell  under  his  gaze. 

A  large  placard,  lettered  with  blood-red  figures,  served  as  a 
coffin-plate. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  ill 

The  letters  had  been  written  in  blood,  and  read  as  follows: 


A  strange  glitter  came  into  the  detective's  eyes,  and  a  red  spot 
glowed  upon  each  cheek  as  his  eye  rested  upon  the  significant 
warning,  conveyed  in  such  a  weird  and  suggestive  manner. 

"Aha!"  he  muttered,  in  an  undertone;  "  they  expect  me!  they 
have  had  a  spy  upon  my  track!  they  have  my  movements  down 
fine!" 

The  detective  slid  the  mask  of  his  lantern,  and  led  his  horse 
past  the  death-casket,  when  he  mounted  and  rode  on  through 
the  darkness  as  unconcernedly  as  though  he  had  passed  under 
an  arch  of  flowers,  with  a  welcoming  motto,  instead  of  over  a 
coffin  bearing  his  death-plate  written  in  letters  of  blood. 

Although  apparently  riding  along  in  such  an  unconcerned 
manner,  the  detective  really  was  intensely  on  the  alert. 

He  Avas  like  the  tiger  who  curls  his  claws  like  a  harmless 
kitten  just  before  the  fatal  leap. 

Macon  Moore  knew  from  the  position  of  the  coffin  that  the 
men  who  had  spread  out  the  grim  warning  knew  not  only  his 
probable  route  but  the  hour  of  his  coming. 

The  meaning  of  that  coffin,  with  its  strange  inscription,  was 
this:  "One  side  is  life;  beyond,  death.  Turn  back,  and  live! 
advance,  itit.tl  die!'''' 

The  steel-nerved  man  rode  on  but  a  short  distance  when  he 
dismounted,  and  from  his  saddle-bags  drew  four  hoof-muffles. 
Having  placed  them  on  his  horse  Dandy,  he  once  more  mounted 
and  road  ahead. 

The  detective's  well-trained  horse  appeared  to  know  that 
silence  was  necessary,  as  he  but  lightly  touched  the  ground,  and 
seemed  to  possess  an  almost  human  keenness. 

After  riding  thus  stealthily  forward  for  a  few  seconds,  the  de 
tective  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  just  ahead  espied  the 
glimmer  of  a  light. 

A  touch  upon  the  reign  caused  the  horse  to  come  to  a  halt,  and 
the  rider  leaned  forward  to  study  the  character  of  the  gleam  of 
light. 


22  MACON  MOORE, 

CHAPTEE  II. 

A   STRANGE  DISCOVERY. 

It  was  a  pitch-dark  night,  and  objects  at  a  distance  were  only 
revealed  in  outline,  and  it  took  the  detective  some  seconds  to 
fully  decide  upon  the  character  of  the  light  ahead. 

As  length  he  discerned  that  the  gleam  came  through  the  lower 
window  of  a  house,  and  he  urged  his  horse  forward  a  few  steps, 
when  once  more  he  came  to  a  halt  and  dismounted. 

"Forewarned,  forearmed,"  saith  the  old  proverb,  and  it  was 
upon  the  teaching  of  the  above  maxim  that  our  hero  was  pro 
ceeding. 

Death  might  lurk  behind  a  seemingly  harmless  bush,  and  an 
incautious  step  might  bring  him  dead  abreast  of  a  number  of 
ambushed  assassins. 

Macon  Moore  picketed  his  horse  beside  the  road,  and  drawing 
a  pair  of  revolvers,  he  cocked  them,  and,  with  one  in  each  hand, 
slowly  advanced  towards  the  house. 

He  reached  the  low  dwelling  in  safety,  and  stood  beside  an. 
open  window!  He  was  glancing  through  the  window  into  the 
room. 

A  light  burned  upon  the  mantel,  and  shed  but  a  flickering 
glare  around,  but  dimly  revealing  a  human  form  lying  upon  the 
floor. 

It  was  an  awful  sight  that  met  our  hero's  eye. 

Death  appeared  to  be  stalking  abroad  that  night,  and  holding 
a  high  carnival,  as  it  was  upon  a  dead  form  that  the  brave  man's 
eye  fell. 

A  beautiful  girl  lay  upon  the  floor,  her  lovely  features  were 
rigid  in  death,  and  shone  under  the  dull  glare  of  light  with  such 
pure  whiteness  as  made  the  body  appear  like  a  clothed  statue. 

Strange  sensations  filled  the  heart  of  the  gazer. 

Never  before  in  all  his  life  had  he  beheld  a  face  so  classically 
beautiful. 

Not  a  living  soul  appeared  to  be  about,  and  the  detective  felt 
that  he  was  standing  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  mystery. 

Suddenly  his  eye  fell  upon  a  pistol  lying  upon  the  floor  be 
side  the  dead  girl.  At  once,  those  keen  eyes  ran  over  the  room, 
and  at  length  their  gaze  was  fixed  upon  dark  smears  upon  the 
wall. 

That  practiced  oyc  had  seen  too  many  such  tell-tale  stains  not 
to  realize  at  once  that  the  beautiful  girl  was  the  victim  either  of 
suicide  or  murder. 

He  left  the  window  and  walked  around  to  the  door,  and  entered 
the  room  of  death. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  23 

As  lie  came  nearer  and  bent  over  the  dead  face,  a  strange  thrill 
stirred  his  heart. 

He  had  never  seen  that  face  when  living,  and  yet  it  seemed 
as  though  tears  of  sadness  and  sorrow  would  force  themselves 
unbidden  to  his  eyes. 

Mechanically  he  placed  his  hand  over  the  girl's  heart,  when  in 
startled  tones  he  ejaculated: 

"My  God!" 

There  was  life  there!  that  heart  still  beat!  he  had  been  de 
ceived  by  those  pale  and  rigid  features. 

There  were  no  wounds  upon  the  body,  although  blood-stains 
smeared  several  articles  about  the  room. 

Macon  Moore  at  once  applied  restoratives.  His  efforts  were 
speedily  rewarded;  the  seemingly  dead  girl  began  to  show  signs 
of  returning  life.  Presently  a  sigh  fell  from  her  lips,  her  rigid 
features  relaxed,  and  the  glow  of  returning  animation  tinged  her 
cheeks. 

Her  eyes  opened,  lovely  blue  eyes  full  of  tenderness. 

The  detective  raised  her  from  the  floor,  and  seated  her  upon  a 
sofa  in  the  room. 

The  girl  opened  her  lips  and  murmured:  "My  poor  father!" 
At  the  same  instant  there  came  the  report  of  a  rifle.  A  convul 
sion  passed  over  the  lovely  face,  a  look  of  wild  terror  to  the  eyes, 
and  our  hero  feared  that  she  was  about  to  fall  into  another  swoon. 

In  a  rich,  manly  tone,  he  asked: 

"  What  has  happened?" 

"  My  poor,  poor  father!"  murmured  the  girl. 

"  Tell  me,  girl,  what  has  happened?" 

"  They  have  taken  my  father  away  to  murder  him!" 

"Who  has  taken  your  father  away?" 

"Who  are  you?"  suddenly  demanded  the  fair  girl,  as  full  con 
sciousness  of  her  position  appeared  to  come  to  her. 

"  I  am  a  friend!" 

"  Your  name?" 

"  Should  I  tell  you  my  name,  can  I  have  the  assurance  that 
you  will  never  breathe  it  in  another's  ear?" 

"  Never." 

"My  name  is  Macon  Moore." 

"My  father's  murderer!"  almost  screamed  the  girl,  as  a  look 
of  terror  overspread  her  face. 

"I  your  father's  murderer?" 

"  No,  no;  excuse  me,  I  spoke  rashly!"        • 

"I  pray  you  open  this  mystery  to  me?" 

"  My  father  has  been  accused  of  conveying  information  to  you!" 

"  What  is  your  father's  name?" 

"Leonard  Bridges." 


24  MACON  MOORE, 

"There  is  some  mistake  here.  I  never  heard  your  father's 
name  before." 

'  My  father  is  a  clergyman.     This  is  the  parsonage. " 

'Who  accused  your  father  of  furnishing  information  to  me?" 

'The  moonshiners,  the  distillers." 

"Tis  false!" 

'  O  sir!  hasten  to  -where  they  have  taken  him,  and,  if  they 
have  not  already  murdered  him,  tell  them  so;  save  his  life,  in 
Heaven's  name,  I  urge  you!" 

"  My  dear  girl,  where  have  they  taken  your  father?" 

"  I  know  not;  they  came  here  about  an  hour  ago,  armed  men 
with  their  faces  masked;  they  beat  the  poor  old  man  in  my  pre 
sence,  trying  to  get  him  to  confess  that  he  had  conveyed  in 
formation  to  you,  and  they  tried  to  force  information  from 
him." 

"What  information  could  he  give?" 

"They  said  he  could  give  information  as  to  your  movements 
and  identity." 

"  You  say  it  was  but  an  hour  ago  they  were  here?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  they  abuse  you?" 

"No." 

"  How  many  men  were  in  the  party?" 

"  At  least  a  dozen." 

The  detective  leaped  to  his  feet. 

For  the  first  time  the  eyes  of  the  lovely  Lucy  Bridges  fell  upon 
the  man  who  had  so  strangely  appeared  in  her  presence. 

Her  glance  fell  upon  a  delicate-looking  man,  strikingly  hand 
some,  but  with  a  most  singular  look  of  courage  and  determina 
tion  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"I  will  save  your  father  if  he  be  still  living." 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  the  girl,  and  she  exclaimed: 

"  I  dare  not  ask  you  to  sacrifice  your  own  life  for  my  fa 
ther's!" 

"  I  will  act  as  my  own  guardian." 

"But  to  save  him  you  will  be  compelled  to  confess  your  own 
identity.  'Tis  your  life  they  seek. " 

"  My  dear  girl,  do  you  mind  your  promise  not  to  reveal  my 
name,  and  I'll  save  your  father's  life  without  confessing  my  own 
identity. " 

The  man  walked  toward  the  door,  when  once  more  the  beauti 
ful  girl  said: 

"I  dare  not  ask  you  to  rush  into  peril;  you  are  but  a  single 
man  against  a  dozen  furious  assassins." 

"  My  dear  lady,  remember  I  am  Macon  Moore,  the  detective. 
I  am  accustomed  to  peril,  and  it  matters  little  from  what  quar- 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  25 

ter  it  may  come;  do  you  but  abide  your  promise  and  I  will 
mine." 

Without  another  word  the  detective  left  the  house. 

As  the  latter  passed  out  one  door,  a  dark-faced  man,  with  a 
fiendish  expression  of  countenance,  and  wild,  gleaming  eyes,  en 
tered  at  the  other  and  stole  noiselessly  toward  the  fair  girl,  whose 
back  was  turned  toward  him. 


CHAPTEK  HI. 

THE   MAN   UT  A  LONG   CLOAK. 

A  new  life  had  opened  to  Macon  Moore. 

The  detective,  despite  his  delicate  beauty,  had  been  known  as 
a  stern,  silent  man. 

It  had  been  said  of  him  that  he  was  a  cold,  soulless  man,  to 
whom  the  sentiment  of  love  and  tenderness  was  unknown;  and 
yet  within  a  few  brief  moments  the  glance  of  one  pair  of  lovely 
eyes  had  stirred  emotions  as  deep,  ardent,  and  tender  as  ever 
filled  a  human  soul. 

Macon  Moore  had  been  considerably  mystified  by  the  occur 
rences  that  had  followed  since  his  discovery  of  the  coffin. 

The  man  always  kept  his  own  counsel;  it  was  his  usual  prac 
tice  to  go  about  his  work  in  such  a  mysterious  and  subtle  man 
ner  that  he  had  been  styled  by  criminals  the  "shadow  of  death 
cop. " 

He  wondered  that  the  moonshiners  should  know  of  his  com 
ing,  and  he  was  still  more  amazed  upon  learning  that  a  man  had 
been  led  forth  to  death  on  the  charge  of  being  his  aide. 

The  girl  could  not  tell  him  where  the  assassin  had  led  her 
father  for  execution,  but  our  hero  speedily  formed  a  suspicion 
concerning  the  possible  place  selected  for  the  tragedy. 

There  was  a  glen  back  in  the  mountains  called  the  "Valley  of 
Death." 

The  name  had  originally  been  applied  to  the  dark  glen  be 
cause  of  an  Indian  massacre  that  had  occurred  there  many  years 
ago. 

The  name  had  been  sustained  in  later  years,  Judge  Lynch  had 
held  court  there  many  times,  and  there  the  stern  and  rapid  sen 
tences  of  said  court  had  been  carried  out. 

The  place  had  also  been  the  rendezvous  of  a  band  of  lawless 
characters,  and  many  a  murder  had  occurred  there  without 
being  attended  with  the  irresponsible  formalities  of  Judge 
Lynch. 

The  detective  knew  of  the  bridle-path  leading  to  the  Valley  of 


20  MACON  MOORE, 

Death,  a  short  cut  to  the  "Gulch  of  Skeletons,"  as  it  was  some 
times  called. 

The  chances  were  that  Leonard  Bridges  had  already  been 
tried,  found  guilty,  and  executed;  still  our  hero  would  not 
slight  even  a  forlorn  hope,  and  mounting  his  good  steed  Dandy, 
ho  started  to  the  glen  of  dark  shadows. 

Lucy  Bridges  had  said  there  were  twelve  of  the  masked  men 
who  had  led  her  father  away,  but  the  knowledge  of  the  odds 
against  him  did  not  cause  the  detective  to  stop  for  a  single 
second's  consideration. 

An  hour's  ride  brought  Macon  Moore  to  the  Valley  of  Death. 

The  detective  entered  the  glen  by  a  passage  walled  on  either 
side  by  overhanging  cliffs. 

Dismounting,  our  hero  picketed  his  horse,  and  unslinging  a 
repeating  carbine,  stealthily  advanced  towards  the  heaven- 
domed  hall  of  justice,  where  Judge  Lynch  sat  in  stern  aspect  to 
arbitrate  upon  life  or  death. 

The  detective  soon  came  to  a  little  knoll  crowned  with  a  num 
ber  of  large  bowlders,  and  from  this  eyrie  he  commanded  a  view 
of  the  spot  where  the  assassins  were  gathered. 

Fortune  had  favored  him.  He  had  arrived  before  the  last  act 
of  the  tragedy.  . 

A  strange  sight  was  presented  to  his  view.  A  dozen  torches 
had  been  ranged  around,  serving  the  purpose  of  so  many  lamps. 
They  had  been  ranged  in  regular  order,  having  been  stuck  in 
the  crevices  of  rocks,  and  as  they  burned  in  the  still  air  they 
cast  a  somber  light  on  surrounding  objects. 

It  was  evident  that  the  assassins  had  decided  upon  a  rude  imi 
tation  of  justice. 

One  of  their  number  sat  on  an  improvised  platform  of  rocks, 
and  the  others  were  gathered  around  in  an  artistic  group. 

In  the  renter  of  this  group  of  well-armed  and  masked  men 
stood  the  prisoner. 

Macon  Moore  crept  up  until  he  stood  on  the  line  of  light 
circled  outward  from  the  torches. 

lie  was  near  enough  to  see  distinctly,  and  hear  as  well  every 
word  that  was  spoken. 

It  was  a  sad  sight  indeed.  The  prisoner  was  a  man  past  sixty, 
tall  of  stature,  with  silver  hair  crowning  handsome  and  benevo 
lent  face. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  the  trial. 

The  evidence  against  the  accused  had  evidently  been  given, 
and  a  few  moments  had  been  allowed  him  to  speak  in  his  own 
behalf. 

The  permission  was  a  mere  formality — a  simple  mockery  of 
justice. 


THE  SOUTHEEN  DETECTIVE.          27 

Leonard  Bridges  spoke  in  a  firm  tone,  and  looked  like  a  very 
god  amidst  that  band  of  masked  murderers. 

"  My  friends,  I  plead  not  for  my  own  life;  were  I  alone  in  the 
world  I  would  bow  my  head  to  the  verdict  of  this  informal  court, 
and  bid  you  carry  out  the  sentence,  but  I  have  a  child — a  dear 
and  precious  child!" 

Here  the  strong,  brave  man's  voice  broke,  and  he  sobbed  and 
buried  his  silver-crowned  head  in  his  hands. 

One  of  the  assassins  exclaimed  in  a  rude  tone: 

"You  have  not  much  time  to  spare,  old  man,  and  you  had 
better  employ  what  time  you  have  in  making  a  confession." 

' '  I  have  told  you  before  that  I  have  no  confession  to  make.  I 
am  innocent  of  the  charges  you  have  preferred  against  me.  No 
matter  how  little  sympathy  I  may  have  with  law-breakers,  I 
have  not  made  it  my  business  to  become  an  informer,  and  I  have 
a  witness  that  I  am  innocent." 

"  Who  is  your  witness?" 

"  God!"  answered  the  prisoner  in  a  solemn  tone. 

"  Well,  as  it  ain't  likely  that  you  can  subpoena  your  witness, 
you  had  better  make  up  your  mind  to  plead  guilty — and  con 
fess!" 

"  Suppose  I  do  plead  guilty  and  confess?" 

"Plead  guilty  and  confess,  and  tell  all  you  know  about  the 
movements  of  Macon  Moore,  and  you  are  a  free  man!" 

"  As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  could  tell  you  nothing  about  the 
movements  of  the  man  you  name." 

"We  have  positive  proof  that  you  have." 

"  I  swear  I  have  not!" 

At  this  moment  a  most  strange  and  singular  incident  occurred. 

A  dark  figure,  shrouded  in  a  long,  black  cloak,  and  with  a  soft 
hat  drawn  over  his  face,  advanced  and  stood  among  the  assas 
sins. 

The  dark  man  enveloped  in  the  long  cloak  appeared  as  though 
he  had  risen  from  the  ground,  so  strange,  silent,  and  mysterkms 
was  his  advent  upon  the  scene. 

At  once  the  click,  click  of  revolver-locks  could  be  heard,  as 
the  assassins  prepared  to  shoot  down  the  intruder  at  a  nod  from 
the  president  of  the  informal  court. 

The  new-comer  advanced  and  placed  himself  beside  the  pris 
oner. 

A  moment's   ominous   silence  followed,  broken  at  length  by 
the  president  of  the  court,  who  asked: 
'  Who  are  you?" 
;  A  stranger." 

;What  is  your  business  here?" 

'1  am  a  witness  in  behalf  of  this  good  and  innocent  man." 
;  What  do  vou  know  about  the  matter?" 


28  MACON  MOORE, 

"I  am  ready  to  swear  tliat  this  man  never  held  communica 
tion  with  Macon  Moore. " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OXE   MAN   DEFIES  A  DOZEN. 

A  murmur  of  surprise   passed   around   the  circle  of  masked 
men  upon  hearing  this  remarkable  declaration. 

The  stranger  stood  erect,  but  kept  the  slouched  hat  drawn 
well  down  over  his  eyes. 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  the  leader  of  the  assassins. 

"  It  matters  not  who  I  am  as  long  as  I  am  ready  to  swear  that 
this  good  old  man  is  innocent." 

"Do  you  know  what  the  charge  is?" 

"I  do." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  information?" 

"From  your  own  lips." 

"And  you  are  willing  to  swear  that  the  prisoner  is  innocent?" 

"lam." 

"  If  you  so  swear,  you  must  be  in  communication  with  Macon 
Moore." 

"lam." 

Curses  arose  on  every  side  upon  hearing  this  bold  and  unex 
pected  acknowledgment. 

"What  proof  have  we  that  you  will  swear  to  the  truth?" 

"A  man  would  not  come  here  to  swear  to  a  lie  with  death  star 
ing  him  in  the  face." 

"What  is  your  object  in  coming  here?" 

"  I  came  to  save  the  life  of  an  innocent  man." 

"What  proof  can  you  furnish  that  you  are  not  a  fraud?" 

"The  best." 

"Name  it."  « 

"  First  allow  your  prisoner  to  go  free." 

"  Not  until  you  convince  us  that  you  testify  truly." 

"The  charge  against  Mr.  Bridges  is  that  he  has  been, in  com 
munication  with  Macon  Moore?" 

"That  is  the  charge." 
'It  is  false." 

'  We  only  have  your  declaration." 
'  No  man's  declaration  is  better  than  mine." 
'  Who  are  you?" 

'  Are  you  anxious  to  know  who  I  am?" 

'You  will  tell  who  you  are  or  take  yonder  prisoner's  place." 
'  If  I  offer  to  take  his  place,  will  you  let  him  go  free. " 

"No." 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  29 

The  stranger  laughed  in  a  satirical  manner,  and  the  circle  of 
assassins  narrowed  around  him. 

"You  are  a  daring  man,"  said  the  president  of  the  court. 

"  I  am." 

"  Who  are  you?" 

"  I  am  Macon  Moore!"  and  as  the  stranger  spoke  he  cast  aside 
his  cloak  and  hat  and  stood  like  a  second  Ajax,  a  perfect  picture 
of  courage  and  defiance. 

A  dozen  weapons  were  aimed  at  his  head,  when  the  president 
of  the  court  cried : 

"Hold!" 

With  low-muttered  curses  the  men  stayed  their  hands. 

"  What  brought  you  here?"  asked  the  president. 

"  I  came  here  to  testify  that  this  old  man  is  innocent." 

"Your  own  life  will  pay  the  forfeit." 

"Not  much." 

The  detective  spoke  in  a  bold,  confident  tone. 

The  assassins  would  have  hacked  him  to  mince-meat  in  a  few 
seconds,  but  their  leader,  who  was  a  cautious  man,  conceived  an 
idea  that  the  detective  would  not  have  dared  to  venture  among 
them  alone, 

"  Your  life  is  forfeited,"  he  said. 

The  detective  laughed,  and,  raising  his  hand,  said,  in  clear, 
distinct  tones: 

"Do  you  think  Macon  Moore  a  fool?  Would  he  come  among 
you  assassins  alone?  Only  listen.  The  heart  of  every  man  here 
is  covered  with  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle.  One  wave  of  my  hand  and 
I  will  be  surrounded  by  twelve  dead  men. " 

The  assassins  who  had  been  crowding  forward  with  their  wea 
pons  in  their  hands,  suddenly  fell  back. 

At  the  moment  the  detective's  wonderful  reputation  and  iron 
nerve  served  him  well. 

The  assassins  knew  that  it  was  characteristic  of  the  man  to 
perpetrate  just  such  a  neat  piece  of  strategy. 

Their  weapons  were  held  in  paralyzed  hands. 

They  were  bold  men,  but  to  meet  death  in  such  a  cold-blooded 
and  systematic  manner  was  too  much  for  even  their  strong 
nerves. 

Macon  Moore  took  in  the  whole  situation. 

He  knew  that  he  had  not  a  moment  to  spare. 

He  was  playing  a  bold  game,  and  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  act  with  quickness  and  decision. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  old  man  who  had  been 
condemned  to  death,  and  said,  in  a  loud  tone: 

"  Go!  Your  life  is  as  safe  as  though  you  were  in  the  midst  of 
your  congregation!" 


30  MACON  MOORE. 

As  the  detective  spoke  he  pointed  in  the  direction  where  his 
own  good  horse  Dandy  was  picketed.  * 

The  released  prisoner  took  the  hint  and  moved  off  in  the  di 
rection  indicated. 

Turning  towards  the  masked  men  the  detective  folded  his 
arms,  and  in  a  clear,  distinct  tone,  said : 

"Now  tell  me  why  was  this  man's  life  forfeited  on  the  charge 
of  being  my  friend?" 

There  came  no  response  to  the  question. 

"  Speak,  murderers!" 

Still  that  band  of  armed  men  stood  silent  in  the  presence  of 
that  one  man  who  had  so  boldly  defied  them. 

"Mark  my  words,  assassins.  It's  lucky  for  you  I  came  in 
time  to  save  that  man's  life!  Had  one  hair  of  his  head  been  in 
jured,  every  mother's  son  of  you  would  have  been  planted  be 
side  a  skeleton  in  this  Valley  of  Death!" 

Having  thus  declared  himself,  the  detective  remarked: 

"We  shall  meet  again!" 

And  turning  upon  his  heel  he  slowly  and  deliberately  walked 
away  without  once  turning  his  head. 

A  few  steps  and  he  was  without  the  line  of  light,  and  still 
there  stood  the  band  of  assassins,  armed  to  the  teeth,  motion 
less;  not  a  man  dared  move;  they  were  under  the  shadow  of  the 
genius  of  that  one  man,  so  delicate  in  appearance,  a  woman 
seemingly  in  stature,  but  a  perfect  lion  when  aroused. 

The  clergyman  had  reached  the  point  where  the  detective's 
horse  was  picketed,  when  he  was  joined  by  our  hero. 
'Mount!"  said  Moore. 
'  Have  you  another  horse?" 
'Mount,  and  speak  not  a  word!" 
'  You  are  alone?" 
'  I  am  alone!" 

'  Wonderful  man!     Heaven  must  have  shielded  you." 
'A  life  depends  upon  your  silence,  good  sir!     Mount,  and  we 
will  away  ere  those  murderers  be  upon  our  heels." 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

OPENING   UP   A   DEATH-TRAIL. 

Macon  Moore  understood  human  nature  well  enough  to  know 
that  the  assassins  would  speedily  recover  from  their  momentary 
paralyzation. 

He  expected  at  any  moment  to  hoar  the  crack  of  a  revolver. 

Fortunately  ho  was  acquainted  with  the  mountain  paths,  and 
the  moment  the  rescued  man  was  mounted  he  seized  Dandy  by 
the  bridle  and  led  him  forward. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  31 

The  detective  moved  cautiously,  and  at  every  step  was  on  the 
alert  for  a  pursuer. 

When  they  were  some  distance  from  the  Valley  of  Death,  and 
all  fear  of  immediate  pursuit  was  passed,  the  clergyman  asked: 

"How  happened  it  that  you  came  to  my  rescue  at  such  an  op 
portune  moment?" 

"  It  was  the  merest  chance,  or  Heaven  guided  me." 

"Heaven  must  have  guided  you,  and  have  protected  you." 

Macon  Moore  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and  had  a  habit  of 
changing  from  a  general  subject  of  conversation  to  the  business 
in  hand. 

"You  must  not  return  to  your  house,  Mr.  Bridges." 

"Where  shall  I  go?" 

"Anywhere  but  to  your  home." 

"  I  must  return  home." 

"  No;  I  will  attend  to  your  daughter." 

"  You  know  of  my  daughter?" 

The  detective  related  what  had  transpired  during  the  earlier 
hoiirs  of  the  evening. 

"  Where  would  you  recommend  me  to  go?" 

"  Do  you  know  of  no  place  down  the  mountain  where  you  can 
remain  for  a  few  days?" 

"  I  have  a  brother." 

"Do  vou  know  the  road  to  his  house  from  here?" 

"I  do." 

"Proceed  there  at  once." 

"You  will  need  your  horse." 

"  No,  I  will  have  no  need  for  him;  I  will  be  compelled  to  lie 
in  covert  until  I  am  ready  to  run  in  on  some  of  the  rascals  around 
here  who  have  ruled  in  such  a  lawless  manner." 

"You  are  in  government  employ?" 

"I  am." 

"You  have  undertaken  a  perilous  labor." 

" I  am  used  to  peril.     Good-night.     I  leave  you  here." 

"But  wait  a  moment.     My  child?" 

"I  am  going  to  your  home." 

"  You  will  send  her  to  me?" 

"I  will."  And  without  another  word  the  detective  darted* 
away  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

"A  wonderful  man!"  muttered  the  good  old  clergyman,  as  he 
rode  along,  silently  rendering  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  at  his 
almost  miraculous  rescue  from  a  violent  death. 

Macon  Moore  reached  the  clergyman's  home.  It  was  just  past 
midnight,  and  yet  no  light  shone  through  the  windows  of  the 
parsonage. 

The  storm,  in  the  midst  of  which  we  introduced  our  hero  to 


32  MACON  MOORE, 

our  readers,  had  been  but  a  fierce  shower,  which  had  passed 
away  and  had  been  followed  by  a  beautiful  calm. 

The  detective  thought  it  an  unfavorable  fact  that  there  was  no 
light  in  the  window.  It  was  natural  to  suppose  that  the  girl 
would  await  news  of  her  father's  fate.  The  detective  bad 
promised  to  return  with  news,  and  the  fair  girl  had  assured  him 
that  she  would  remain  on  her  bended  knees  until  he  came  again. 

Mucon  Moore  had  sufficient  experience  to  know  that  something 
unusual  had  occurred  during  his  absence. 

With  a  stealthy  step  he  approached  the  house,  and  at  the  front 
door  came  to  a  halt  and  listened. 

Not  a  sound  came  to  his  ears,  and  after  waiting  a  few  seconds 
he  uttered  a  low  signal-call. 

He  expected  no  answer,  and  so  far  his  expectations  were  re 
alized. 

Drawing  his  revolver,  he  entered  the  house  with  noiseless  step, 
and  proceeded  cautiously,  on  his  guard  against  a  surprise. 

A  moment  and  he  was  in  the  room  where  he  had  first  beheld 
the  parson's  lovely  daughter. 

"  Lucy,"  he  called,  in  a  low  tone. 

All  was  silent,  not  an  answering  sound  came. 

The  detective  drew  his  dark  lantern,  and  flashed  the  light 
around.  ^ 

"  My  God!"  he  exclaimed,  "  could  the  fiends  have  murdered 
one  so  fair  and  innocent?" 

As  the  man  uttered  the  exclamation  he  clutched  his  weapon 
convulsively,  and  a  tigerish  look  distorted  his  handsome  face. 

The  evidences  of  a  fearful  crime  were  apparent  on  every  side. 

His  well-trained  eye  had  noted  the  original  blood-stains,  but 
there  were  fresh  ones  visible  now. 

Upon  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  a  pool  of  blood. 

The  detective  bent  down  over  the  blood-red  testimony  to  a 
fiendish  act,  and  saw,  mingled  with  the  crimson  stain,  locks  of 
human  hair. 

He  recognized  the  smeared  tresses;  he  had  seen  them  on  a 
living  head.  His  frame  became  rigid  with  horror;  great  beads 
•  of  cold  sweat  stood  out  upon  white  forehead. 

He  had  studied  the  evidences  of  many  a  terrible  crime,  but 
never  before  one  of  equal  horror. 

He  could  not  realize  that  during  his  brief  absence  the  life  of 
one  so  fair  and  beautiful  had  been  mercilessly  sacrificed. 

"Oh!  why  did  I  leave  her?"  he  murmured. 

It  seemed  as  though  he  had  been  tantalized  by  some  cruel  fate; 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  such  a  fair  vision,  and  have  it  shadowed 
from  his  brain  under  a  mystery  so  deep  and  terrible,  caused  his 
heart  to  almost  oease  its  pulsation. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  33 

He  was  still  gazing  at  the  fearful  evidence  of  a  terrible  crime 
when  a  strange  sound  fell  upon  his  ear. 

He  listened  and  again  he  heard  a  deep  moan. 

Macon  Moore  had  never  known  before  what  it  was  to  tremble 
with  fear,  and  yet  at  the  moment  he  shook  like  an  aspen-leaf. 

He  had  not  the  courage  to  go  towards  the  spot  whence  the 
sound  came.  He  did  not  feel  that  even  he  could  gaze  upon  the 
ghastly  sight  that  he  dreaded  awaited  him. 

Again  the  moan  fell  upon  his  ear. 

He  felt  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  and  started  towards  the  quar 
ter  whence  the  sound  of  agony  came. 

Passing  out  to  the  hall,  he  walked  along,  still  on  his  guard 
against  a  surprise. 

The  light  of  his  lamp  was  flashed  in  advance,  and  there  upon 
the  floor  he  saw  stretched  the  form  of  a  negro. 

The  detective  spoke  to  the  man,  when,  with  a  bound,  the  fel 
low  sprang  to  his  feet. 

Macon  Moore  fixed  his  keen  eyes  on  the  mulatto's  face  and 
came  to  an  instantaneous  conclusion. 

The  detective  felt  that  he  was  gazing  upon  the  fiendish  linea 
ments  of  Lucy  Bridge's  murderer. 


CHAPTEE     VI. 

A      EOGTJE      TJNMASKED. 

Upon  seeing  that  he  was  discovered,  the  man  whom  the  de- 

ctive  aroused  dropped  upon  his  knees  and,  in  a  most  pitiful 
voice,  exclaimed: 

"Don't  kill  me,  massa!  don't  kill  me!" 

"Why  should  I  kill  you?" 

"Dunuo;  I  ain't  done  nuffin." 

"  Then  why  should  I  kill  you?" 

"Why  should  dey  kill  Missy  Lucy?" 

f '  Who  killed  Miss  Lucy?" 

"Dunno;  somebody  killed  her." 

"Did  you  see  them  kill  her?" 

"  Yes,  sah;  dis  yere  chile  seen  dem  kill  her!" 

"Saw  who?" 

"Lot  o'  men  in  masks;  moonshiners,  mebbe;  yes,  guess  dey 
wer'  moonshiners,  and  dey  had  no  right  to  go  kill  poor  Missy 
Lucv;  she  were  an  angel!" 

"Why  did  they  kill  her?" 

"Dunno;  heerd  'em  say  she  had  tole  someting,  and  dat  she 
must  die!" 


34  MAOON  MOORE, 

Macon  Moore  raised  his  dark  lantern  and  flashed  the  bright 
light  square  in  the  mulatto's  face. 

A  startled  look  passed  over  the  feHow's  face,  while  his  eyes 
gleamed  with  a  most  singular  intelligence. 

There  was  too  great  a  contrast  between  the  mam's  apparent 
simplicity  and  his  real  intelligence,  as  expressed  in  his  eyes. 

As  stated  at  the  close  of  our  previous  chapter,  the  detective, 
when  he  first  caught  sight  of  the  fellow,  thought  that  ho  was 
gazing  upon  the  fiendish  face  of  the  girl's  murderer,  and  despite 
the  mulatto's  seeming  simplicity  and  well-told  story,  the  first 
suspicion  remained. 

Macon  Moore  had  been  born  on  a  plantation;  he  had  lived  in 
the  midst  of  the  poor  black  men  all  his  life,  and  being  naturally 
an  observant  man,  he  was  familiar  with  all  their  natural  peculi 
arities. 

The  actions  of  the  man  before  him  were  too  transparent  to  so 
keen  an  observer;  they  were  overdone;  in  fact,  assumed. 

"  Who  are  you?"  asked  the  detective,  in  a  quick,  decisive  tone, 
at  the  same  moment  fixing  his  keen  blue  eyes  sternly  upon  the 
mulatto. 

"  Oh!  I'se  a  poor  man  roun'  heah." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  be  round  here  at  the  time  the  murder 
took  place?" 

"I  jes'  came  roun'  ter  get  someting  to  eat  from  Missy  Lucy." 

"  Do  you  usually  come  around  begging  for  something  to  eat 
at  an  hour  well  on  towards  midnight?" 

"No,  sah." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  do  so  to-night?" 

"Dunno." 

The  detective  had  held  his  lantern  in  one  hand  and  a  cocked 
pistol  in  the  other.  He  stuck  the  latter  in  his  pocket,  and, 
reaching  forth,  suddenly  snatched  at  the  head  of  the  mulatto. 

A  strange  denouement  followed.  The  man's  stubby  crop  of 
wool  came  off  and  revealed  the  closely-shaven  scalp  of  a  white 
man. 

The  man  leaped  back  as  his  false  hair  was  jerked  from  his 
head,  and  drawing  a  revolver,  he  fired  at  point-blank  range. 

The  detective,  however,  was  too  quick  for  him.  Had  the 
former  been  armed  he  could  have  dropped  his  man,  but  having 
pocketed  his  pistol  in  order  to  expose  the  fraud,  he  was  for  the 
moment  at'the  assassin's  mercy. 

As  the  man  raised  his  pistol,  Macon  Moore  swung  his  lantern 
around,  and  knocked  the  muzzle  of  the  pistol  upward;  the 
-mllet,  however,  crashed  through  the  lantern,  and  the  two  men 
were  left  in  darkness. 

A  number  of  pistol-shots  followed. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  35 

The  detective  had  drawn  his  own  weapon  as  his  lamp  was 
shattered,  and  both  men  blazed  away  in  the  darkness. 

But  a  few  shots  were  exchanged.  The  assassin  was  the  first 
to  cease  firing. 

The  detective  had  changed  his  position  after  each  shot,  and 
when  no  responsive  shot  came,  was  on  his  guard  against  any 
little  game. 

A  minute  passed,  but  it  was  one  of  those  minutes  whose  dura 
tion  seemed  lengthened  to  an  hour's  space. 

The  detective  slowly  backed  toward  the  door  of  the  room 
from  which  he  had  issued  at  the  moment  he  entered  the  hall  and 
discovered  the  disguised  man. 

So  wonderful  were  the  officer's  calculative  perceptions,  that  he 
was  able  to  reach  the  door  opening  into  the  room  without 
making  one  false  step. 

Once  in  the  room,  he  went  down  in  his  clothes  and  drew 
forth  a  second  dark  lantern. 

He  had  known  lanterns  to  be  smashed  before,  and  was  pro 
vided  for  such  a  contingency. 

It  took  but  a  second  to  light  his  new  lamp,  but  he  did  not 
raise  the  slide  until  he  was  in  the  hall  once  more,  when  he  sud 
denly  flashed  the  sharp  ray  through  the  darkness. 

He  was  alone.  There  were  no  signs  of  the  man  whom  he  had 
so  singularly  unmasked.  Against  the  wall,  however,  was  a  fresh 
smear  of  blood. 

The  detective's  light  was  directed  toward  the  floor,  and 
illumined  a  blood-red  trail. 

Our  hero  knew  that  one  of  his  shots  must  have  been  effective. 
He  followed  the  trail  to  the  rear  porch,  and  so  down  the  garden 
path  to  a  wicket  gate. 

"I've  only  winged  him  a  bit!"  muttered  Macon  Moore,  as  he 
returned  to  the  house. 

Our  hero  was  greatly  mystified.  He  could  not  understand 
the  purpose  of  the  man  in  remaining  to  tell  the  story  of  the 
murder. 

It  was  this  little  mystery  that  caused  our  hero  to  return  to  the 
house,  as  a  new  suspicion  had  come  to  his  mind. 

There  was  no  question  but  that  the  pretended  mulatto  had 
lingered  behind  for  the  sole  purpose  of  telling  the  story  of  the 
murder. 

The  detective's  first  impression  had  been,  upon  discovering  evi 
dences  of  the  horrid  deed,  that  moonshiners  were  the  perpe 
trators;  but  since  his  adventure  with  the  man  whom  he  had 
found  in  the  house,  he  had  cut  adrift  from  his  first  conclusion. 

There  had  been  a  deliberate  design  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
deed  had  been  done  by  the  masked  marauders,  and  it  was  a  cer 
tainty  that  the  real  murderer  had  assumed  the  character  of  a 


36  MACON  MOOKE,          , 

poor  old  mulatto  in  order  to  convey  such  an  impression  to  who 
ever  should  be  the  first  to  discover  the  deed. 

Once  again  in  the  room  which  had  been  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy,  our  hero  commenced  a  critical  examination  of  all  the 
evidences. 

As  his  examination  proceeded  he  made  the  most  astounding 
discoveries,  and  the  most  weird  probabilities  were  presented  to 
his  imagination. 

Ascending  the  stairs,  the  detective  entered  several  rooms,  until 
at  length  he  came  tooue  which  he  selected  as  the  sleeping-room 
of  the  fair  girl  who  had  been  so  foully  murdered. 

Strange  thoughts  came  to  the  man,  and  he  was  inwardly 
shaken  by  deep  emotions,  as  his  eye  rested  upon  the  couch 
where  that  fair  girl  had  so  oft  reclined  in  all  her  beauty  and  inno 
cence. 

The  brave  man's  thoughts  were  sad  indeed.  It  seemed  like  a 
cruel  fate  that  he  should  have  passed  to  his  age  without  meeting 
a  soul  in  female  form  capable  of  stirring  his  deepest  feelings  until 
his  gaze  rested  on  Lucy  Bridges. 

Her  presence  had  come  to  him  like  a  glorious  revelation — a 
grand  realization  of  a  longing  that  had  lain  buried  way  down  in 
his  heart;  and  now  the  revelation,  the  glorious  realization,  had 
vanished  in  the  deepest  shadow  and  gloom. 

It  was  not  often  that  at  such  a  moment  our  hero  stood  and 
brooded  over  past  events,  but  the  passing  night  had  brought  to 
him  a  new  experience. 

He  was  not  permitted  to  indulge  his  sad  fancies.  He  was 
aroused  in  the  most  thrilling  and  startling  manner. 

A  strange,  grating  noise  fell  upon  his  ear,  and  at  once  he  was 
upon  his  guard.  A  movement  of  his  thumb,  and  his  light  was 
out.  He  stood  in  total  darkness. 


CHAPTEE  VH. 

A  MOST  EXTEAORDINAKY  KIJSE. 

Any  man  less  used  to  constant  surprises  would  have  been 
taken  at  a  disadvantage,  but  Macon  Moore  was  too  well  trained 
and  experienced  not  to  recognize  instantly  the  nature  of  the 
noise  that  he  had  heard. 

As  his  light  went  out,  the  detective  dropped  to  the  floor,  and 
crawled  close  under  the  window.  A  moment  and  he  had  seen 
the  face  of  a  man  pressed  against  the  window-pane. 

The  face  only  remained  a  moment,  when  it  was  withdrawn, 
and  the  detective  knew  that  the  man  who  had  been  peering  in 
the  room  had.  dropped  once  more  to  the  ground. 


THE   SOLTHERX  DETECTIVE.  37 

"I  reckon  I've  been  caught  like  a  mouse  in  a  trap!"  was  the 
detective's  whispered  comment,  as  he  raised  the  sash  half  an 
inch,  and  put  his  ear  by  the  opening. 

He  heard  words  confirmatory  of  his  suspicion.  The  house  was 
surrounded  by  armed  men. 

Death  grimly  smiled  upon  our  hero  from  the  muzzles  of  over 
twenty  riti.es. 

"Is  every  door  and  window  guarded?". was  the  first  sentence 
that  came  to  our  hero's  ears. 

The  response  brought   him  no  hope. 

"A  mouse  couldn't  get  out  of  that  house  without  being 
seen." 

Macon  Moore  took  in  the  situation.  The  gang  whom  he  had 
outwitted  in  the  "Valley  of  Death "  had  probably  discovered 
how  they  had  been  duped.  They  had  struck  his  trail,  and  had 
run  him  down  to  the  parsonage. 

The  house  was  surrounded  by  a  score  of  armed  men,  relent 
less,  desperate  murderers,  bent  on  satisfaction  and  revenge. 

Under  such  fearful  circumstances,  the  Southern  detective  was 
as  cool  and  level-headed  as  though  seated  in  the  office  of  the 
police  station  in  Savannah. 

He  had  heard  one  of  the  men  say  that  a  mouse  could  not  pass 
from  that  house  without  being  discovered;  and  yet,  despite  the 
presence  of  twenty  armed  men,  the  detective  felt  confident  of 
running  the  guard  and  escaping  his  present  peril. 

One  thing  mystified  him.  He  did  not  understand  why  the 
men  had  delayed  their  entrance  into  the  parsonage. 

A  word  that  fell  from  one  of  his  enemies  revealed  the  rea 
son. 

"  Let's  set  fire  to  the  place  and  burn  the  imps  all  up!" 

"Ah!"  thought  Moore,  "  they  think  there  is  a  number  of  men 
in  the  house." 

The  detective  decided  to  take  advantage  of  their  delay. 

He  knew  that  in  the  end  they  would  discover  the  truth,  and 
the  jig  would  be  up  with  him  unless  he  improved  his  time. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  Macon  Moore  knew  that  the  critical 
moment  had  arrived. 

He  heard  heavy  steps  in  the  house  below  stairs,  and  shortly 
after  heavy  steps  were  heard  ascending  to  the  upper  story. 

It  appeared  as  though  certain  death  awaited  our  hero  as  he 
stood  in  the  room  and  made  no  effort  to  escape. 

It  could  not  be  possible  that  he  had  determined  single-handed 
to  battle  with  twenty  desperate  men  armed  to  the  teeth. 

Nay,  nay,  the  steel-nerved  man  was  playing  a  cunning  game, 
although  taking  long  chances  in  risking  it. 

Steps  were  heard  outside  the  door,  and  the  detective  also  re- 


449G89 


38  MACON  MOORE, 

cognized  that  the  men  carried  a  light  with  them,  as  lie  saw  its 
rays  shining  beneath  the  door. 

' '  This  is  the  room  where  we  saw  the  light, "  he  heard  one  of  the 
men  remark,  and  then  both  voices  dropped  to  a  whisper,  and  he 
could  not  distinguish  what  was  said. 

There  came  a  knock  on  the  door  from  the  outside. 

The  detective  made  no  response,  and  the  rap  was  repeated,  and 
after  a^moment  there  came  the  command: 

"  Open  the  door!" 

The  door  was  unlocked.  Had  the  men  tried  it  upon  first  com 
ing  opposite  they  would  have  discovered  the  fact. 

The  door  was  opened  and  a  flood  of  light  rushed  into  the 
room,  and  a  most  strange  and  thrilling  tableau  was  presented. 

The  man  who  had  opened  the  door  held  a  lamp  in  his  hand, 
and  as  the  door  yielded  he  thrust  the  lamp  into  tae  room. 

In  the  background  stood  two  other  men  with  cocked  and 
loaded  rifles. 

Their  aim  rested  upon  a  most  interesting  subject. 

A  girl  in  her  "  robe  de  nuit, "  a  sleeping-cap  upon  her  head, 
with  long  curls  straggling  down  her  shoulders,  was  kneeling  be 
side  the  bed. 

The  men  stood  silent  and  aghast. 

They  had  expected  to  see  armed  men  rush  forth,  and  instead 
beheld  a  girl  kneeling  beside  her  bed. 

They  wero  desperate  men,  but  not  bereft  of  every  human  sen 
timent. 

Without  the  exchange  of  a  word,  the  man  who  had  opened 
the  door  caught  the  knob  and  drew  it  to,  and  not  one  of  the 
other  men  protested. 

How  different  would  have  been  the  scene  that  would  have  fol 
lowed,  had  those  men  seen  the  smile  of  triumph  that  played  over 
the  face  bordered  by  that  dainty  lady's  nightcap. 

Macon  Moore  had  tried  stratagem;  had  the  latter  failed  he 
would  have  resorted  to  a  desperate  defense,  and  would  have  died 
like  a  man  "  with  his  back  to  the  field  and  his  feet  to  the  foe." 
Under  that  night-robe  was  a  man  armed  to  the  teeth;  but  cun 
ning  had  succeeded  where  desperate  courage  might  have  failed. 

When  the  door  was  closed  the  detective  remained  in  a  kneel 
ing  position.  He  knew  that  a  command  might  come  from  below 
ordering  the  girl  to  be  brought  down-stairs. 

Ten  minutes  passed,  and  the  detective  rose  from  beside  the 
bed. 

It  was  necessary  for  him  to  learn  the  intentions  of  the  men 
below  stairs.  Noiselessly  he  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out 
to  the  hall.  He  could  see  down  to  the  lower  hall,  and  there  be 
held  a  number  of  men  standing  over  the  blood-trail. 

The  command  came; 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  39 

"  Go  and  bring  the  girl  down-stairs;  she  must  know  some 
thing  as  to  the  fight  that  has  taken  place  here." 

Indeed  there  were  good  evidences  of  a  fight,  as  the  bullets 
discharged  by  the  two  men  had  plowed  the  wall  and  surface  in 
several  directions. 

Macon  Moore,  leaning  over  the  balustrade,  heard  the  com 
mand: 

"  Go  bring  the  girl  down-stairs!" 

One  of  the  men  started  to  ascend  to  the  second  story.  It  was 
the  man  who  had  carried  the  light,  and  who  had  opened  the 
door  when  the  girl  had  been  discovered. 

In  a  few  seconds  the  man  returned  down-stairs,  and  reported 
that  the  girl  was  not  in  the  room. 

'•I  thought  you  men  saw  a  girl  in  the  room  above  stairs!" 
exclaimed  the  man  who  appeared  to  be  the  leader  of  the  gang. 

"  So  we  did!" 

"  Then  where  in  thunder  is  she  now?"  came  the  question. 


CHAPTEE    VIII. 

SOME   ACCOUNT   OF   OUK   HEBO. 

Macon  Moore  had  been  celebrated  as  a  detective  for  a  number 
of  years. 

He  was  the  orphan  son  of  a  Confederate  colonel,  who  had 
been  killed  while  commanding  a  Georgia  regiment. 

Our  hero  was  but  eleven  years  old  when  his  father  died,  and 
as  the  latter  had  perished  while  in  arms  against  the  general 
government,  the  lad,  left  a  friendless  orphan  at  such  an  early 
age,  had  been  thrown  upon  the  charity  of  the  world. 

The  government,  which  provided  for  the  orphans  of  the  Union 
dead,  had  made  no  provision  for  the  bereft  children  of  Con 
federate  soldiers. 

The  little  Southerner  was  a  sturdy  little  chap,  and  having  no 
known  relatives,  he  had  fought  the  battle  of  life  without  asking 
assistance  from  a  living  soul. 

He  had  managed  to  secure  a  fair  education,  and  being  a  born 
gentleman,  it  served  as  well  as  though  the  means  had  been  pro 
vided  by  others. 

Our  hero  was  but  twenty  when,  as  a  volunteer,  he  undertook 
to  run  down  and  capture  a  noted  desperado  who  had  committed 
a  number  of  murders. 

Upon  another  occasion  he  had  accompanied  the  sheriff  as  a 
volunteer  to  arrest  a  number  of  forgers  who  had  located  in  the 
mountain  fastnesses. 

The  adventure  proved  a  most  desperate  one.     The  sheriff  and 


40  MACON  MOORE, 

all  his  party  were  slain  save  one.  Macon  Moore  made  his  way 
back  to  the  city  covered  with  wounds. 

The  whole  commonwealth  rose  in  indignation,  and  a  large 
reward  was  offered  for  the  capture  of  any  member  of  the  gang. 

When  our  hero  recovered  from  his  wounds  he  set  out  to  run 
down  the  forgers  and  assassins. 

In  two  years,  after  encountering  all  sorts  of  adventures,  he 
either  captured  or  killed  every  man  who  had  been  engaged  in 
the  massacre. 

His  adventures  during  these  two  years  had  given  him  the 
reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most  daring  men  in  the  Southern 
States,  and  led  to  his  special  employment  as  State  detective. 

He  had  never  been  known  to  fail  in  an  undertaking  when  sent 
to  capture  a  criminal,  and  the  criminal  classes  throughout  the 
whole  South  and  Southwest  had  come  to  dread  the  pursuit  of 
Macon  Moore  with  greater  terror  than  the  knowledge  that  a 
whole  regiment  of  government  or  State  cavalry  Avas  upon  their 
trail. 

It  was  thus  as  above  detailed  that  our  hero  had  through  a 
series  of  adventurous  incidents  drifted  into  the  trade  of  a  profes 
sional  detective. 

At  the  time  our  story  opens  a  reign  of  lawlessness  had  pre 
vailed  for  a  long  time  in  the  mountain  districts  of  the  State, 
where  in  various  places  illicit  whisky  stills  had  been  established. 

The  general  government  had  sent  down  numerous  agents,  who 
had  been  murdered  in  the  most  ruthless  manner,  and  the  law 
lessness  had  gone  on  until  it  had  become  a  condition  of  guerilla 
warfare. 

The  suppression  of  the  illicit  whisky  business  was  a  national 
duty,  as  the  general  government  collected  the  tax  upon  tho 
manufacture,  but  the  moonshiners,  in  their  efforts  to  evade  the 
duty,  had  committed  crimes  against  citizens  of  the  State. 

Innocent  men  had  been  shot  down  ruthlessly  in  cold  blood, 
sim  ply  for  harboring  over  night  a  traveler  suspected  of  being  a 
government  agent. 

Judges  and  officers  were  set  at  naught,  and  it  appeared  as 
though 

"Murder  had  bared  her  arm." 

At  length  the  governor  had  offered  the  services  of  the  great 
detective  to  the  general  government,  and  through  some  strange 
leak  the  fact  had  been  conveyed  to  the  whisky  men. 

The  news  was  received  with  curses. 

The  moonshiners  were  shielded  under  a  sort  of  immunity  from 
punishment  as  individuals,  from  the  fact  that  their  acts  of  law 
lessness  were  committed  in  prangs. 

They  had  fought  tho  soldiers  and  agents,  and  snapped  their 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  41 

fingers  at  future  consequences;  but  when  it  came  to  having  a 
detective" let  loose  among  them,  especially  such  a  man  as  Macon 
Moore,  it  became  a  serious  matter. 

They  knew  then  that  they  ran  the  danger  of  being  spotted  as 
individuals,  and  it  was  the  latter  system  that  they  most  dreaded. 

Could  the  government  trail  them  down  as  individuals,  the 
men  would  practically  become  outlaws,  and  eventually  would 
be  certain  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  law. 

The  true  secret  was  that  there  were  men  engaged  in  the  busi 
ness  who  were  unknown,  and  were  recognized  in  society  as  re 
putable  men. 

A  detective,  if  permitted  to  carry  on  his  work,  would  unmask 
and  expose  these  rascals;  and  that  is  why  all  their  attention  was 
given  to  the  possibility  of  assassinating  the  bold  man  who  had 
undertaken  to  run  them  down. 

They  would  have  snapped  their  fingers  at  an  ordinary  detec 
tive,  and  would  have  disposed  of  him  in  short  order. 

Our  hero,  however,  was  a  man  who  could  not  bo  so  easily 
silenced. 

He  could  not  be  approached  with  bribes.  He  knew  most  of 
the  men  whom  he  was  to  track.  He  was  also  well  acquainted 
with  the  country;  and  besides  all  this  he  was  known  as  such  a 
deep  and  cunning  man,  and  one  who  moved  with  the  noiseless 
motion  of  a  canoe  through  the  waters,  leaving  no  trail  behind. 

When  Macon  Moore  came  across  the  coffin,  with  the  placard 
marked  sacred  to  his  memory,  he  was  not  surprised.  . 

He  knew  then  that  there  was  some  man  in  the  State  depart 
ment  in  sympathy  with  some  of  the  moonshiners,  if  not  even  a 
partner  in  the' traffic;  and  he  knew  also  that  it  was  through  this 
source  that  the  knowledge  of  his  assignment  to  this  perilous 
duty  had  become  known  to  the  men  he  was  to  trail  down. 

He  wondered  that  they  had  taken  such  a  method  to  frighten 
him  off,  as  it  ought  to  have  been  known  that  he  would  not  scare, 
and  the  weird  warning  had  only  served  to  put  him  on  his  guard. 

As  our  readers  know,  he  had  become  engaged  in  active  work 
from  the  first  moment  of  his  appearance  in  the  mountains. 

Asking  our  readers'  pardon  for  the  above  explanatory  digres 
sion,  we  will  proceed  with  our  narrative. 

As  our  readers  will  remember,  the  man  who  had  gone  above 
stairs  in  the  parson's  house  had  returned  and  reported  the  girl 
missing. 

Our  readers  will  remember  also  that  the  leader  had  demanded: 

"  Whore  in  thunder  is  she?" 

"  She  has  vanished!"  was  the  only  answer. 

The  leader  himself  ascended  the  stairs,  light  in  hand,  and 
made  an  examination  of  the  room. 

Turning  to  the  men  who  had  followed  him,  he  said: 


42  MACON  MOORE, 

"  There  is  something  strange  about  this." 

One  of  the  men  had  turned  down  the  coverlet  over  the  bed, 
and,  in  a  quick  tone,  exclaimed: 

"There  is  something  strange  about  this,  too,  I  should  think." 

As  the  man  spoke  he  held  aloft  a  cocked  revolver,  while  to  the 
hammer  was  tied  a  little  placard  bearing  words  of  most  startling 
significance. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

A     EETUBN     SHOT. 

The  leader  tore  off  the  placard  and  read: 

"  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  every  man  whose  hand  is  red  with 
innocent  blood." 

The  strange  missive  was  written  in  lead-pencil,  and  signed 
«M.  M ." 

A  dead  silence  followed  the  reading  of  the  note  tied  to  the 
cocked  pistol. 

Each  man  felt  a  cold  chill  go  to  his  heart. 

It  was  no  idle  threat,  coming  as  it  did  from  such  a  wonderful 
man  as  the  great  detective,  Macon  Moore.  The  truth  came 
like  a  flash  of  revelation  to  every  man,  and  the  whispered  word 
was  passed  from  man  to  man  that  the  seeming  fair  girl  who  had 
been  seen  kneeling  at  the  bedside  was  in  reality  the  famous  de 
tective — the  man  whose  presence  in  the  mountains  had  caused 
workmen  to  hover  round  their  silent  stills  with  pale  and  anxious 
faces. 

The  men  who  had  held  their  leveled  rifles  through  the  open 
door  gnashed  their  teeth  in  impotent  rage  and  fury. 

They  cursed  themselves  that  those  rifles  had  not  been  made  to 
belch  forth  death  to  that  seemingly  helpless  girl. 

They  had  had  the  scourge  of  their  fortunes  at  their  mercy;  had 
had  him  trapped  like  a  mouse  in  a  cage,  and  he  had  slipped 
through  their  fingers,  and  at  the  present  moment  was  laughing 
because  of  the  joke  he  had  played  upon  them. 

The  detective  had  come  to  the  correct  conclusion  when  he  had 
surmised  that  the  gang  who  had  been  fooled  in  the  "  Valley  of 
Death"  had  discovered  their  mistake. 

Twice  in  one  night  had  the  scourge  been,  single-handed,  in 
thc-ir  very  midst,  and  twice  had  he  evaded  them. 

Maeon  "Moore  had  not  parted  from  the  rescued  clergyman  over 
half  an  hour  when  the  men  were  upon  his  trail. 

They  had  gathered  round  the  spot  where  the  two  men  had 
separated,  and  had  been  shrewd  enough  to  determine  that  it  was 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  43 

the  clergyman  who  had  ridden  away  on  horseback  and  the  de 
tective  who  had  gone  afoot. 

It  was  the  man  afoot  whom  they  had  followed,  and  they  had 
traced  him  to  the  parsonage. 

As  they  chewed  the  apple  of  chagrin,  they  realized  that  they 
ought  to  have  entered  the  house  upon  their  first  arrival. 

Cowardice  had  deterred  them;  they  were  still  under  the  im 
pression  that  Moore  must  have  confederates  with  him;  that  he 
had  left  them  at  the  parsonage  while  absent  at  the  ' '  Valley  of 
Death." 

"  Twice  we  have  been  fooled,"  said  the  leader  of  the  gang  of 
moonshiners,  "but,  as  I  live,  never  again  shall  that  man  slip 
alive  through  our  fingers." 

"We  can  strike  his  trail  and  run  him  down  yet,"  suggested 
one  of  the  men. 

"Indeed,  we  may,  and  to  make  sure,"  said  the  leader,  "shoot 
down  any  man  you  mav  meet,  no  matter  in  what  guise  you  may 
find  him." 

This  was  a  brutal  order,  and  yet,  from  the  moonshiners'  stand 
point,  a  necessary  one,  as  they  were  determined  to  guard  against 
any  new  disguise  that  the  detective  might  assume. 

In  the  meantime,  our  hero  was  himself  following  a  trail. 

As  stated,  a  critical  examination  of  the  murder  evidences  had 
caused  him  to  adopt  a  certain  theory. 

It  was  a  startling  one,  and  yet  there  were  strong  reasons  for 
adopting  ft. 

Macon  Moore  was  a  man  who  considered  no  circtimstance  too 
trifling  for  consideration,  and  it  Avas  this  trait  in  his  character 
that  had  contributed  to  some  of  his  most  remarkable  professional 
successes. 

Upon  hearing  the  command  to  bring  the  girl  down  for  ex 
amination,  he  had  determined  that  it  was  time  for  the  girl  to 
leave. 

The  disguise  was  hastily  removed,  but  not  discarded;  the  pla 
card  was  tied  to  the  cocked  weapon,  and  Macon  Moore  let  him 
self  out  of  the  window  down  to  the  ground. 

Had  the  man  who  ascended  to  bring  down  the  girl  looked  out 
of  the  window,  he  would  have  seen  a  man  noiselessly  stealing 
awav. 

T ho  moonshiner,  however,  thought  that  the  girl  had  probably 
hidden  under  the  bed,  or  in  a  closet,  and  he  commenced  to  look 
for  her  without  paying  any  attention  to  the  open  window 
through  which  the  detective  had  departed. 

Not  finding  the  girl,  he  reported  back  to  his  leader  as  recorded, 
and  the  events  followed  as  above  described. 

In  the  meantime  the  detective  had  run  a  narrow  risk  of  cap 
ture. 


44  MACOX  MOOKE, 

A  hundred  yards  from  the  house  he  had  met  two  men. 

The  latter  were  masked,  and  seeing  our  hero  stealing  from  the 
direction  of  the  house,  their  suspicions  were  aroused. 

Macon  Moore  was  right  face  to  face  with  the  two  men  when  he 
first  saw  them,  and  before  he  knew  it  two  cocked  pistols  were 
planted  against  either  cheek. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  stranger?" 

"  I  was  sent  to  look  for  you,"  was  the  answer,  in  a  cool,  off 
hand  tone. 

"  Sent  to  look  for  us?" 

"Yes." 

"  Why  were  you  sent  to  look  for  us?" 

"  Macon  Moore  was  in  that  house  there  half  an  hour  ago,  and 
the  captain  wants  to  rally  all  hands  for  hunt." 

"Macon  Moore  in  the  parsonage!" 

"  Yes,  he  was,  not  more  than  thirty  minutes  ago." 

The  two  pistols  were  withdrawn  from  our  hero's  cheeks.  His 
absolute  "  cheek  "  and  coolness  had  saved  his  life. 

A  hesitating  or  equivocal  answer  at  the  moment  would  have 
cost  him  his  life. 

The  two  men  were  thrown  completely  off  their  guard,  and. 
started  toward  the  parsonage. 

Jt  was  a  trying  moment  for  our  detective. 

He  had  saved  his  life  by  his  coolness,  and  now  he  must  pre 
vent  those  two  men  from  communicating  with  the  gang. 

It  was  necessary  to  avoid  a  pursuit.  He  proposed  to  turn 
trailer  himself,  and  it  would  be  tough  business,  with  a  gang  of 
desperate  men  running  him  down  at  the  same  moment  like  a 
pack  of  blood-hounds. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ONE  TO  TEN. 

Men  engaged  in  perilous  duties  acquire  one  characteristic, 
and  that  is  a  habit  of  acting  on  the  instant  when  a  decision  is 
made. 

The  detective  waited  until  the  two  men  had  proceeded  about 
ten  feet,  when  he  suddenly  sprang  forward,  and  with  the  butt  of 
his  pistol  dealt  each  a  terrific  blow  on  the  head. 

He  knew  just  where  to  strike  so  as  to  produce  insensibility. 

Without  cry  or  groan  the  two  men  reeled  backward  and  fell  to 
the  ground. 

The  detective  did  not  strike  a  second  blow,  but  dashed  quickly 
away,  taking  a  direction  contrary  to  the  onei  he  had  been  follow 
ing  at  the  time  he  met  the  two  men. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  45 

He  left  a  broad,  open  trail,  but  when  some  yards  away  he 
struck  another  direction  and  left  a  closer  trail,  and,  finally,  he 
came  back  to  where  he  had  started  from,  and  going  forward  on 
his  original  course,  left  no  trail. 

Moore  had  just  struck  his  last  course  when  the  gang  of  moon 
shiners  issued  from  the  house,  acting  under  the  command  to  kill 
any  one  they  met  who  was  not  immediately  recognized. 

It  was  lucky  for  the  detective  that  this  Herodic  order  had  not 
been  communicated  to  the  two  men  whom  he  had  met,  as  his 
career  would  have  ended  then  and  there. 

The  moonshiners  were  sleuthing  for  the  detective's  trail,  and 
were  not  slow  in  finding  it. 

The  party  advanced  a  short  distance  when  one  of  them  tripped 
over  the  prostrate  form  of  a  man. 

The  moonshiner  uttered  a  cry  and  called  for  a  torch. 

The  whole  gang  a  moment  later  were  gathered  around  the 
bleeding  forms  of  the  two  men  whom  our  hero  had  dropped. 

Restoratives  were  applied  and  the  wounded  men  returned  to 
consciousness. 

"  What  befell  you?"  demanded  the  leader  of  the  gang. 

The  latter  was  a  man  named  Yenni,  and  he  was  one  of  the 
heaviest  distillers  in  the  business.  He  was  reported  to  be  enor 
mously  rich,  and  it  was  understood  also  that  every  dollar  that  he 
owned  had  been  accumulated  in  the  unlawful  traffic. 

He  was  a  man  known  to  possess  great  political  influence,  and 
it  was  supposed  that  he  had  partners  in  high  quarters. 

A  discovery  of  his  identity  meant  not  only  ruin  to  himself,  but 
to  a  large,  number  of  influential  men  who  were  his  aiders  and 
abettors. 

The  moment  the  men  were  restored  to  consciousness  Yenni 
questioned  them. 

Their  story  filled  him  with  amazement. 

"  It  appears,"  he  said,  "  that  this  man  bears  a  charmed  life. 
He  meets  us  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  and  always  comes  out 
ahead!" 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  suggested  one  of  the  men. 

"  No  time  to  lose  in  what  way?" 

' '  Macon  Moore  is  not  far  off;  we  can  overhaul  him  yet  before 
daylight. " 

"  You  think  we  can  overhaul  him  before  daylight?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Gentlemen,  listen  to  me.  I  will  give  a  check  for  tveuty 
thousand  dollars  to  the  man  who  will  bring  me  the  h<;M  of 
Macon  Moore,  and  this  offer  is  to  stand  until  he  is  captinxxi  and 
executed!" 

"  Suppose  there  are  a  number  of  us  who  capture  himf ' 


46  MACON  MOORE, 

"  The  money  -will  be  paid  and  his  captors  and  executors  can  ar 
range  about  the  division  of  the  fund  among  themselves." 

A  terrible  incentive  had  been  offered  to  twenty  men  to  commit 
a  ghastly  murder. 

There  is  hardly  a  man  living  who,  under  like  circumstances, 
would  not  have  given  up  the  job  had  he  been  in  the  detective's 
place  and  have  known  of  the  price  put  upon  his  head. 

Had  our  hero  been  told  that  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  had 
been  offered  for  his  capture,  and  that  a  thousand  men  were  on 
his  trail,  it  would  have  made  no  difference. 

He  was  in  the  mountains  to  accomplish  a  certain  work,  and  he 
was  the  man  to  perform  his  duty  or  die! 

While  twenty  thousand  dollars  were   being  offered  for  his 
"  taking  off,"  our  hero  was  quietly  following  the  trail  that  com 
menced  at  the  parsonage  in  a  line  of  blood. 
Daylight  found  him  still  upon  the  trail. 

The  man  had  been  badly  wounded,  and  owing  to  the  latter 
fact,  had  left  a  broad  trail. 

The  detective  traced  him  ten  miles  from  the  scene  of  the  com 
bat  to  an  elegant  residence  down  in  the  valley. 
Macon  Moore  prepared  to  mouse  out  the  mystery. 
His  first  move  was  to  adopt  a  suitable  disguise,  and  it  was  a . 
slender-looking  man  in  the  garb  of  a  clergyman  who  stopped  at 
the  nearest  tavern  to  obtain  his  breakfast. 

Even  in  the  rough  country  where  our  hero  found  himself,  the 
people  had  a  sort  of  rustic  reverence  for  a  minister. 

The  pretended  student  of  divinity  ate  a  pretty  solid  breakfast 
for  an  intellectual  man  who  was  supposed  to  care  but  little  for 
bodily  comforts. 

After  his  meal  our  hero  came  out  upon  the  porch,  and  man 
aged  to  get  into  conversation  with  a  lonely-looking  old  man, 
•who  appeared  to  belong  about  the  neighborhood. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  subject  of  inquiry  drifted  to  the 
man  who  lived  in  the  elegant  mansion  to  which  the  detective 
had  traced  the  wounded  fugitive. 

"  Who  lives  in  the  handsome  house  about  two  miles  from 
here?" 

'Do  you  mean  the  Spaniard's  place?" 

'  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  a  Spaniard  or  a  Chinaman." 

'  You  mean  the  house  with  the  gilded  dome?" 

'Yes." 

'  A  Mr.  Arteaga  lives  there." 

'A  Spaniard,  eh?" 

'Yes,  sir." 

'A  retired  gpntleman?" 

'  He  pretends  to  be." 

'  What  do  you  mean  wliori  you  say  he  pretends  to  be?" 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  47 

"  Well,  it  is  rumored  that  lie  is  interested  in  the  whisky  trade, 
but  he  pretends  to  be  a  gentleman  of  large  means  living  on  his 
money." 

;'  Is  he  a  married  man?" 

"  He  may  have  a  wife  in  Spain  or  Cuba,  but  no  white  woman 
has  ever  been  seen  around  his  place." 

"Does  he  associate  with  his  neighbors?" 

"Not  much;  he  is  a  reserved,  ugly  man;  no  one  likes  him 
around  here." 

The  conversation  was  brought  to  a  sudden  close  at  this  point. 
The  old  man  happened  to  glance  up  the  road,  when  he  ex 
claimed  : 

"  By  George!  I  wonder  what  deed  of  violence  is  about  to  be 
perpetrated  now?" 

Our  hero  glanced  up  the  road,  and  his  blood  ran  cold  as  he 
recognized  the  cause  of  the  old  man's  declaration. 

Ten  mounted  men  were  seen  riding  toward  the  tavern,  and  the 
old  man  whispered  the  one  word,  "  Moonshiners!" 


CHAPTEE  XI. 
rrr  A  "PEACEFUL"  DISGUISE  BUT  BELLIGEKENT  MOOD. 

Macon  Moore  had  not  heard  Colonel  Yenni's  command  to  his 
gang  of  eight  riders  to  shoot  down  any  man  that  they  should 
meet,  so  as  to  make  sure  of  their  man,  or  at  the  moment  he 
would  not  have  placed  so  much  reliance  upon  his  disguise. 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  purpose  of  the  ten  horsemen 
that  were  seen  approaching.  They  were  upon  our  hero's  track, 
and  they  were  armed  to  the  teeth. 

The  choice  was  left  to  him  to  risk  his  disguise,  or  steal  away 
and  trust  to  flight. 

Macon  Moore  was  too  brave  a  man  to  risk  a  combat  when  it 
could  be  avoided. 

A  truly  brave  man  is  one  who  is  cool-headed  and  oalculative  in 
moments  of  peril;  and  it  is  no  sign  of  cowardice  to  avoid  a  fight 
against  fearful  odds  when  some  purpose  is  to  be  served. 

Our  hero  would  not  have  thought  of  retreating  froru  twice  ten 
men  had  duty  required  that  he  should  remain  to  face  them;  but 
wh<n  no  such  necessity  was  the  requirement  he  always  avoided 
the  shedding  of  blood,  if  possible. 

It  took  him  but  a  moment  to  decide,  and  he  determined  to 
trust  his  disguise  despite  the  risk  and  fearful  chances  against 
him;  but  it  was  not  a  fool-hardy  rashness  that  led  to  his  deci 
sion. 

A  writer  who  has  carefully  gone  over  the  ground  and  gathered 


48  MACON  MOOKE, 

the  materials  for  a  story,  could  often  furnish  testimony  to  the 
correctness  of  incidents  of  seeming  improbability,  if  space  per 
mitted;  and  as  we  propose  to  record  some  very  startling  occur 
rences,  we  will  call  our  readers'  attention  to  the  subjoined 
excerpt  from  a  Southern  paper,  in  order  to  show  the  lawlessness 
that  existed  in  the  region  where  the  incidents  of  our  story  are 
laid. 

The  extract  is  from  the  Mobile  (Ala.)  Gazette  of  September  6, 
1880,  and  is  but  a  paragraph  from  a  long  account  of  the  perilous 
experience  of  a  government  officer: 

"  We  reached  Mr.  Bird's  plantation  after  an  exciting  march  of 
a  mile,  and  there  remained  Monday  night.  The  friendly  negroes 
of  their  own  motion  guarded  the  roads  and  the  premises  all  tliat 
night,  for  the  night  riders  of  Sumter  County  had  given  out  that 
they  would  '  ride '  that  night,  and  had  they  come  upon  us  every 
pian  of  our  party  would  have  been  slaughtered  in  cold  blood/" 

Macon  Moore  did  not  anticipate  discovery,  but  in  his  heart  he 
was  resolved  to  sell  his  life  dearly  in  case  an  attack  should  be 
made  upon  him. 

A  few  moments  and  the  ten  men  reached  the  tavern;  they 
were  all  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  wore  their  weapons  exposed. 

Having  dismounted,  they  came  in  a  body  to  the  porch  and 
eyed  our  hero  and  his  companion,  the  old  man, 

"Have  any  strangers  arrived  here  over  night?"  came  the 
query. 

The  detective  undertook  to  anticipate  the  old  man  to  whom 
the  question  was  addressed,  and  gave  the  answer: 

"No." 

The  man   who  had   asked  the  question  fixed  a  penetrating 
glance  upon  the  seeming  clergyman,  and  demanded : 
'  What  do  you  know  about  it?" 
'  I've  been  here  a  couple  of  days." 
'  And  you  have  seen  every  one  that  •went  and  came?" 
'I  haven't  seen  any  strangers  come  or  go,"  was  the  equivocal 
answer. 

'Well,  there  has  been  a  stranger  here,  and  we  know  it." 
'  Then  you  know  more  than  I  do. " 

At  this  moment  the  owner  of  the  tavern  came  to  the  door,  and 
the  night  driver  addressed  the  same  question  to  him. 

The  detective  felt  a  little  inward  quiver  of  agitation  as  he  lis 
tened  to  the  landlord's  reply: 

"There  has  been  no  one  here!" 

The  landlord  spoke  the  truth  from  his  standpoint,  as  he  ac 
cepted  the  question  to  imply  a  stranger  such  as  the  moonshiners 
would  most  likely  be  looking  for.  A  clergyman  was  not  rated  as 
anybody  down  in  that  quarter. 


THE   SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  49 

It  was  to  a  very  narrow  margin  the  detective  had  intrusted  his 
life^ 

The  ten  men  ordered  breakfast,  and  were  apparently  satisfied. 
When   in   the  dining-room,   one   of  them  asked  the   colored 
chap  who  was  waiting  on  them  when  the  parson  had  arrived  at 
the  hotel. 

The  question  was  asked  in  a  careless,  off-hand  manner,  and  the 
darkey,  who  had  no  love  for  the  riders,  and  feared  for  his  very 
life  while  they  were  around,  was  taken  completely  off  his  guard, 
and  he  answered: 

"Fust  time  I  seed  him  were  dis  mornin',  gemmen!" 
"He  was  not  here  last  night?" 

The  darkey's  suspicions  were  aroused.  He  had  discerned  that 
the  armed  men  were  in  pursuit  of  some  one,  and  he  could  have 
cut  his  tongue  off.  The  eagerness  with  which  the  last  question 
was  put  showed  that  the  men  had  some  suspicion  concerning 
the  parson. 

The  darkey  answered,  hesitatingly: 

"  Well,  now  dis  here  chile  can't  say  for  true  wedder  de  parson 
wer'  heah  last  night,  but  come  to  think,  I  rudder  ges  dat  he  wer' 
heah." 

The  dining-room  was  but  a  small  apartment,  and  one  of  the 
riders  rose  from  the  table  and  locked  the  door,  while  another 
advanced,  and  seizing  hold  of  the  darkey,  placed  a  cocked  pistol 
at  his  head,  and  exclaimed: 

"You  black  rascal!  I'll  make  you  tell  the  truth,  or  send  a  ball 
through  your  head!" 

'  O  massa!  don't  kill  dis  yere  chile!  I'se  boun'  ter  tell  de  trufe!" 
'When  did  the  parson  come?" 
'  I  dunno;  honor  bright,  massa,  I  dunno!" 
'Say  your  prayers!" 

'  O  massa,  massa!  don't  kill  dis  yere  chile!" 
'  Don't  die  with  a  lie  on  your  soul,  boy!" 
'  What  yer  want  me  ter  tell  yer?" 
'  When  did  the  parson  arrive  here?" 
'Didn't  see  him  till  dis  yer  blessed  mornin'." 
'  Did  vou  ever  see  him  around  here  before?" 
'  Neber!" 

The  man  withdrew  the  pistol  from  the  frightened   colored 
man's  head,  and  restoring  the  weapon  to  his  belt,  said: 
"  Next  time  tell  the  truth  the  first  time!" 

The  poor  colored  boy  felt  tei-ribl^.  He  knew  that  an  enemy 
of  the  night  rider  must  be  a  friend  to  his  own  race,  and  it  filled 
his  heart  with  misery  to  think  that  he  had  been  forced  at  the 
muzzle  of  a  cocked  pistol  to  tell  the  truth,  and  place  a  friend  of 
his  people  in  peril. 


50  MACON  MOORE, 

The  faithful  fellow  intended,  should  an  opportunity  offer,  to 
•warn  the  doomed  man. 

The  moonshiners  evidently  discerned  his  hope,  and  one  of 
them  said: 

"If  you  open  your  head  about  any  inquiries  we  have  made, 
we'll  hang  you  to  the  bare  branch  of  yonder  willow-tree!"  and 
as  the  brute  spoke  he  pointed  out  of  the  window  toward  the 
tree  named. 

While  the  above  scene  was  occurring,  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  were 
gazing  into  that  room. 

Macon  Moore  knew  that  the  riders  were  suspicious,  and  when 
they  entered  the  dining-room,  he  posted  himself  in  the  yard,  so 
that  through  one  of  the  windows  he  could  observe  what  was 
going  on. 


CHAPTEK  XII. 

MACON  MOOKE'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  NIGHT  KIDEKS. 

The  detective  could  not  overhear  what  was  being  said  in  the 
room,  but  he  saw  sufficient  of  the  movements  to  come  to  a  pretty 
correct  conclusion  as  to  the  purport  of  the  talk;  and  again  the 
question  came  in  his  mind  whether  it  were  better  for  him  to 
shrink  away,  or  remain  and  fight  the  bloodthirsty  fellows  who 
had  tracked  him. 

Escape  was  open  to  him  if  he  chose  to  seek  safety  in  flight. 
After  a  moment's  thought,  he  determined  to  remain,  and  re 
turned  to  the  piazza  of  the  tavern. 

Ho  had  been  there  but  a  fow  seconds  when  the  men  came 
forth.  One  of  them  came  up  to  him  and  demanded  in  a  rough 
tone: 

"Do  you  belong  round  here?" 
"  No." 

"  What  are  you  doing  around  here?" 
"  By  what  right  do  you  question  me?" 

There  were  a  number  of  men  gathered  on  the  porch  beside 
J:.\\  •  il'^ht  riders,  and  they  were  amazed  to  see  a  man  address  the 

i  ,  dcriryman  in  such  a  rough  manner. 

The  man  who  had  asked  the  questions,  instead  of  answering 
the  parson's  return  query,  exclaimed  with  an  oath: 
'  I  believe  you  are,  a  fraud!" 

'  It  makes  but  little  difference  to  me  what  you  believe." 
'  It1  you  really  are  a  clergyman  we've  got  a  job  for  you." 
'  Wliat  can  I  do  for  you?" 

'  A  friend  of  ours  is'  dying,  and  we  are  on  the  scout  for  a 
clergyman  to  visit  him. " 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  51 

"If  I  could  believe  that  jour  friend  was  really  dying,  I  would 
be  happy  to  go  to  his  bedside." 

"You  would?" 

"I  would." 

"I  do  not  believe  you;  I  do  not  believe  you  are  a  clergyman!" 
and  as  the  man  spoke  he  suddenly  reached  forward  to  grasp  the 
parson  by  the  hair,  but  a  well-directed  blow  from  the  butt-end 
of  a  pistol  brought  him  to  his  knees. 

The  game  was  opened. 

The  riders  drew  their  pistols,  but  the  first  shots  came  from 
Macon  Moore,  the  Southern  detective. 

The  famous  officer  had  been  driven  into  a  corner.  There  re 
mained  no  chance  for  escape  by  address  and  cunning.  He  must 
fight  one  against  ten. 

Two  of  the  riders  fell  to  the  floor  of  the  piazza,  and  the  others 
ran  for  cover. 

The  reputation  of  the  great  detective  was  such  that  even  ten 
armed  men  were  appalled  in  his  presence. 

A  regular  fusillade  of  pistol-shots  followed. 

The  detective  leaped  over  the  rail  of  the  porch  and  backed 
toward  the  hostelry  yard,  where  the  ten  horses  of  the  riders  were 
tethered. 

As  he  retreated  the  bullets  rained  around  him,  but  his  assail 
ants  were  so  excited  they  proved  but  poor  marksmen. 

The  detective,  even  with  all  the  odds  against  him,  was  the 
coolest  man  in  the  fight,  and  the  least  exposure  of  the  persons  of 
the  riders  called  forth  a  shot,  and  every  time  his  aim  was  good 
and  true. 

Moore  retreated  until  he  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  with  lightning-like  speed  he  darted  over  to  where  the  horses 
were  tethered. 

With  his  bowie-knife  he  cut  one  halter-strap  after  another,  and 
•with  kick  and  shout,  started  the  steeds  galloping  down  the  road. 

By  the  time  three  of  the  horses  were  cut  adrift,  the  others 
•were  maddened  and  frantic,  and  the  moment  they  were  freed, 
dashed  away,  snorting  and  kicking  in  the  most  furious  manner. 

The  riders  saw,  when  too  late,  to  what  a  bold  and  desperate 
game  the  detective  had  resorted. 

Xwo  of  them  ran  out  of  the  house  and  commenced  blazing 
away  at  him. 

The  detective,  being  in  among  the  horses,  managed  to  keep  his 
body  unexposed;  in  their  fury  the  two  riders,  when  reinforced 
by  two  others,  jumped  off  the  stoop  and  ran  toward  him,  intend 
ing  to  make  sure  of  him  at  short  range. 

By  the  time  the  men  were  close  to  him  the  detective  had  re 
leased  all  the  horses  but  one. 

Being  a  keen  horseman,  eren  during  the  exciting  moments 


52  MAC 'OX  MOOKE, 

while  releasing  them,  he  had  selected  from  among  their  number, 
with  his  eye,  the  best  animal  among  them;  and  the  latter  was 
the  one  he  kept  to  be  freed  last,  and  when  the  four  riders  came 
madly  rushing  toward  him,  he  used  the  horse  as  a  rampart. 

Eaug!  bang!  went  his  revolver,  and  two  of  the  men  had  fallen 
when  the  two  others  took  to  their  heels,  and  fled  once  more  to 
cover. 

The  men  could  not  face  that  deadly  aim. 

Every  time  the  detective  fired  a  man  dropped. 

Moore  freed  the  last  horse,  but  did  not  start  him  off  on  a  mad 
chase  after  his  fellows,  but  mounted  him  and  rode  round  in  front 
of  the  tavern,  when,  uttering  a  loud  whoop,  like  an  arrow  shot 
from  a  quiver  he  dashed  away. 

The  riders  came  sneaking  forth  after  the  great  detective  had 
disappeared. 

It  was  a  remarkable  feat,  but  one  that  has  been  performed  by 
dozens  of  men  of  the  same  mettle  as  the  great  Southern  detective. 

His  coolness,  dexterity  in  movement,  and  deadly  aim  with  the 
pistol  had  made  him  a  matcli  for  ten  armed  men;  and  in  an 
open  fight  he  had  worsted  them,  coming  out  of  the  melee  un- 
scratched,  while  two  of  his  assailants  were  stone  dead,  one  mor 
tally  wounded,  and  two  others  disabled. 

The  whole  fight  had  not  lasted  over  ten  minutes,  and  the 
above  was  the  terrible  result. 

Under  circumstances  as  above  ten  minutes  is  a  long  period  of 
time. 

When  the  fight  was  over,  the  riders  began  to  realize  their 
fearful  defeat. 

It  did  not  seem  possible  that  one  man  had  made  such  fearful 
havoc  among  them. 

They  were  all  good  fighters,  and  rated  themselves  good  pistol- 
shots,  and  yet  this  one  extraordinary  man  had  met  them  in  an 
open  fight  and  got  away,  leaving  them  to  care  for  their  dead. 

No  attempt  was  made  to  follow  Macon  Moore. 

He  could  be  seen  from  the  tavern  porch  riding  leisurely  along 
np  one  of  the  mountain  roads,  apparently  as  unconcerned  as 
though  he  had  been  engaged  in  a  little  harmless  target  practice. 

The  citizens  of  the  place  had  gathered  around,  and  those  who 
had  been  witnesses  of  the  fight  related  the  details. 

Some  had  asked  who  the  man  was  who  had  proved  himself 
such  a  wonderful  fighter;  but  none  of  the  riders  vouchsafed  to 
gratify  their  curiosity. 

It  was  enough  for  themselves  that  they  knew  whom  their  foe 
had  been;  und  it  was  with  heavy  hearts  that  they  sought  to  hire 
a  wagon  to  carry  away  their  dead,  while  the  wounded  men  were 
quartered  in  the  tavern  and  a  surgeon  sent  for  to  attend  them. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECT1VK.  5:J 

CHAPTEK  XIII. 

COLONEL   YENNI   GETS   THE   NEWS. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  of  the  fight,  Col.  Yenni,  the 
chief  of  the  moonshiners,  was  seated  on  the  porch  of  his  resi 
dence. 

Col.  Yenni  did  not  live  tip  in  the  mountain,  but  occupied  an 
elegant  residence  down  in  the  valley. 

A  horseman  was  seen  coming  down  the  road,  and  as  he  drew 
near  the  colonel  recognized  him  as  one  of  his  men. 

The  horseman  rode  up  the  path  towards  the  piazza,  and,  dis 
mounting,  approached  his  chief. 

'  You  bring  news?" 

'Yes,  sir." 

'  Did  the  party  overtake  Moore?" 

'  Yes,  sir." 

'Where?" 

The  man  named  the  tavern,  which  was  eleven  miles  distant 
from  the  colonel's  residence. 

Colonel  Yenni  commenced  to  rub  his  hands  gleefully,  as  he 
asked : 

"So  vou  tracked  him,  eh?" 

"We"  did." 

"  You  had  him  dead  to  rights?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Was  he  in  disguise?" 

"  He  was,  but  we  dropped  to  his  color  at  once." 

"And  dropped  him?"  asked  the  colonel,  in  an  anxious  and 
husky  voice. 

"Not  much!" 

"  What!  he  got  away  from  ten  of  you?" 

"  More  than  that. " 

"You  men  were  fools!  I  gave  you  credit  for  more  cunning!  I 
wish  I  had  been  there!" 

"If  you  had  you  would  have  been  a  dead  man." 

The  colonel  turned  pale,  and  said: 

".Tell  me  all  about  it." 

'fc.There  is  not  much  to  tell;  we  dropped  to  the  man  in  his  dis 
guise  as  a  parson,  and  Avent  for  him,  when  he  gave  us  the  biggest 
fight  we  ever  had  on  our  hands  in  all  our  lives." 

"And  he  escaped  after  all?" 

"Well,  you  may  call  it  an  escape,  but  the  facts  are  that  he 
rode  leisurely  off  after  killing  three  of  our  party  and  disabling 
two  others." 

"Who  is  dead?" 


B4  MACUN   MOUKJ-:, 

The  messenger  repeated  the  names  of  the  men  who  had  been 
killed  in  the  fight,  and  also  described  truthfully  all  the  incidents 
of  the  fearful  fracas. 

"That  man  must  be  incased  in  a  suit  of  mail,"  remarked  the 
colonel. 

"Then  the  devil  forged  it!"  answered  the  messenger. 

"And  all  your  horses  were  sent  careering  away  V" 

"  All  but  the  one  he  reserved  for  his  own  use." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  one  man  getting  away  with 
ten  men  in  a  fight." 

"  That  man  would  have  beaten  a  whole  regiment." 

"We  will  kill  him  yet  before  the  beginning  of  another  week." 

"I  hope  we  may,  but  if  you  do  you  will  catch  him  asleep." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it.  I've  got  a  man  who  will  lay  him  out — 
a  fellow  as  cunning  and  brave  as  himself,  who  will  lay  upon  his 
track  like  a  shadow." 

"  I  hope  you  have  a  man  to  lay  him  out,  or  you  can  make  up 
your  mind  to  one  thing,  colonel." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"  Macon  Moore  must  be  laid  out  or  the  business  is  ruined; 
and,  what  is  more,  every  man  will  be  piped  down  who  has  had  a 
hand  in  it,  and  we  will  all  be  called  to  a  fearful  reckoning." 

"You  go  and  summon  the  riders  for  a  meeting  in  the  Valley  of 
Death  to-night,  and  I  will  guarantee  to  lay  a  plan  before  them 
for  getting  rid  of  the  scourge,  Macon  Moore!" 

After  the  fight  Macon  Moore  had  ridden  up  the  mountain,  as 
described,  but  the  moment  he  was  beyond  sight  from  the  tavern 
he  changed  his  route. 

He  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  coming  off  conqueror  in  his  first 
out-and-out  fight  with  the  whisky  men,  and  he  fully  realized  the 
advantage  his  victory  would  prove  to  him. 

It  was  this  latter  consideration  that  had  induced  him  to  remain 
and  take  the  chances  of  having  his  disguise  opened. 

No  man  better  understood  the  percentage  in  favor  of  a  man 
who  had  once  inflicted  terrible  punishment  in  a  fight. 

His  name  would  become  a  greater  terror  than  ever  before,  and 
he  had  seen  the  time  Avhen  the  mere  mention  of  his  name  had 
cleared  a  room  of  a  gang  of  desperadoes. 

The  detective  Avas  determined  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  home  of  Ar- 
teaga,  the  Spaniard. 

The  old  man  had  said  that  it  was  suspected  that  the  Spaniard 
was  interested  with  the  moonshiners,  and  our  hero  had  gathered 
sufficient  information  concerning  the  whisky  men  to  avail  him 
self  of  hisknowloii 

He  tm-ned  his  horse  down  a  mountain-path  intending  to  make 
a  detour  and  come  out  in  the  valley  on  a  road  that  would  bring 
him  to  the  residence  of  the  Spaniard. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  55 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  a  horseman  drove  through 
the  great  gate  opening  upon  the  broad  carnage-way  that  led  up 
to  the  grand  entrance  to  the  Spaniard's  home. 

The  man  was  dressed  in  a  rad  shirt,  with  a  handkerchief  bound 
about  his  neck;  his  lower  limbs  were  covered  by  a  dirty  pair  of 
jean  pants,  and  a  slouched  hat  covered  his  head. 

The  rider  dismounted  at  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  and,  tether 
ing  his  horse,  he  ascended  the  stoop  and  rapped  with  the  great 
silver  knocker. 

Some  moments  passed  before  the  door  was  opened  by  a 
long-haired  man,  with  gleaming  black  eyes  and  a  tawny  com 
plexion. 

One  glance  was  sufficient  to  indicate  that  the  man  was  a  full- 
blooded  Indian. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Arteaga,"  said  the  man  in  the  red  shirt  and 
sloiich  hat. 

'  Not  home." 

'  I  will  come  in  and  wait  for  him!" 
'No;  you  cannot  come  in!" 
'I  have  important  business  with  him!" 
'Can't  do  any  business  when  he  is  not  home." 
'I  tell  you  I  will  come  in  and  wait  for  him!" 
'Wait  outside!"  said  the  Indian,  and  he  slammed  the  door 
shut  and  the  outside  man  heard  the  great  bolt  slide  in  its  place. 

The  man  who  had  been  thus  unceremoniously  shut  out  dis 
played  no  anger;  on  the  contrary,  a  queer  sort  of  smile  played 
over  his  face  as  he  seated  himself  on  the  steps,  and  drawing  a 
pipe  from  his  pocket  deliberately  commenced  filling  it. 

Fully  an  hour  passed,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  Indian, 
with  a  gun  in  his  hand,  came  round  from  the  side  of  the  house. 

"  I'm  waiting!"  said  the  man  in  the  slouch  hat. 

"You  must  not  wait  any  longer." 

"Oh!  yes." 

"  Go!"  said  the  Indian,  and  he  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder 
and  drew  a  bead  upon  the  stranger. 

The  latter  did  not  scare,  however,  nor  make  the  least  move 
toward  obeying  the  command  to  go. 


•'  CHAPTEK  XIV. 

A   SMALTS   FIGHT  WITH   A  RED   MAN. 

"Will  you  go?"  said  the  Indian. 
"No!" 

"  Go,  or  I  shoot!" 

Before  the  rod  man   could   carry  out  his  threat  he  was  com 
manded  to  halt  by  a  voice  right  near  his  ear  from  behind. 


56  MACON  MOORE, 

The  Indian  Jerked  his  head  around  to  see  who  had  given  the 
command,  when,  quick  as  a  Hash,  the  weapon  was  jerked  out  of 
his  hand. 

No  one  was  present  save  the  two  men. 

The  Indian  appeared  too  amazed  at  the  absence  of  a  third 
party  to  regard  for  a  moment  the  wresting  of  the  gun  from  his 
hand. 

The  mysterious  voice  appalled  him. 

"A  rifle  ain't  a  safe  toy  for  a  felloAV  like  you!"  remarked  the 
man  in  the  slouch  hat. 

"Who  spoke?"  asked  the  Indian. 

"I  spoke.  Didn't  I  speak  loud  enough  .for  you  to  hear  me? 
I  say  a  cocked  rifle  is  a  dangerous  toy  for  a  fellow  like  you." 

"  No,  no;  who  told  me  to  halt?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  haven't  seen  any  one  around  here." 

"  Me  no  see  any  one,  but  me  heard  a  voice  say  'halt'!" 

".I  reckon  you've  been  drinking  some  of  that  Spanish  wine 
they  say  you  have  in  the  house  there." 

Ail  further  conversation  was  interrupted  at  the  moment  by  the 
appearance  of  a  third  party  on  the  scene. 

The  door  of  the  mansion  opened,  and  a  gentleman  almost  as 
dark  as  the  Indian  came  forth. 

Macon  Moore  fixed  his  glance  on  the  man,  whom  he  recog 
nized  as  a  half-breed  negro. 

The  detective  was  too  keen  a  man  to  be  fooled  by  any  such 
device. 

The  man's  dress  and  diamonds  proclaimed  him  the  master  of 
the  mansion. 

His  appearance  was  that  of  a  gentleman,  and  yet  our  hero  was 
fain  to  confess  that  he  had  never  gazed  upon  a  more  villainous 
face  in  all  his  life. 

"What  do  you  want  hanging  around  here,  fellow?"  demanded 
the  man. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Arteaga." 

"My  name  is  Arteaga." 

"  Well,  I  thought  so;  and  when  they  tcld  me  you  were  not  at 
home  I  didn't  believe  them." 

"  What  is  your  business?" 

"  My  business  is  private." 

"Jake,  go  away,"  said  Mr.  Artoaga. 

The  man  spoke  in  broken  "English,  but  our  hero  rather  sus 
pected  that  the  broken  English  part  of  it  wa«  assumed. 

The  Indian  walked  away,  whou  the  gentleman  called  him  back 
and  said: 

"Take  your  ernn  with  you." 

The  Indian  returned  and  reafhod  forth  his  hand  to  rocrivo  the 
gun,  when  the  man  in  the  slouch  hat  discharged  the  weapon  in 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  57 

the  air,  and,  seizing  hold  of  the  barrel,  deftly  broke  off  the  lock 
on  the  iron  scraper  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

The  whole  movement  was  executed  so  quickly  that  no  oppor 
tunity  was  offered  for  protest. 

The  man  handed  the  useless  gun  to  the  Indian  with  the  re 
mark: 

"There,  take  it;  you  can't  hurt  any  one  now!" 

A  glance  was  exchanged  between  Mr.  Arteaga  and  the  Indian. 
At  onca  a  complete  change  came  over  the  face  of  the  latter.  The 
blood  tinged  his  tawny  cheeks,  his  eyes  sparkled  with  fury,  and 
a  low  noise,  resembling  a  sort  of  growl,  came  from  between  his 
lips. 

The  detective  observed  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  Indian, 
but  stood  there  as  unconcernedly  as  though  the  red  man  had 
been  laughing  in  amusement. 

The  Indian,  as  the  change  came  over  his  countenance,  drew  a 
bowie-knife  from  his  belt  and  leaped  toward  our  hero. 

Macon  Moore  stepped  backward  one  step;  there  came  a  flash 
and  report,  and  the  bowie-knife  blade  dropped  to  the  ground, 
while  the  amazed  red  man  merely  held  its  handle  in  his  clutched 
hand. 

"You  are  a  dangerous  fellow,"  said  the  detective,  in  a  de 
liberate  manner,  as  he  quietly  restored  to  his  pocket  the  pistol 
with  which  he  had  performed  the  remarkable  feat. 

Mr.  Arteaga  was  not  less  surprised  than  the  Indian,  and  a  mo 
ment's  awkward  silence  followed,  broken  at  last  by  our  hero, 
who  said: 

"  It's  strange  you  will  keep  such  an  assassin  around  hereto 
murder  men  who  have  come  to  do  you  a  service." 

"  Do  me  a  service?" 

"Yes." 

"What  service  can  a  man  like  you  do  me?" 

The  detective  started  to  ascend  the  steps  of  the  piazza,  when 
Mr.  Arteaga  exclaimed: 

"No,  no!     Remain  where  you  are!" 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  place  you  in  the  power  of  that  red  brute 
there?" 'said  the  detective  in  a"  low  tone  as  he  nodded  toward  the 
Indian.  . 

Thokblood  had  forsaken  the  tawny  face  of  the  Spaniard,  and 
his  countenance  was  shadowed  by  a  ghastly  hue. 

"Ask  me  into  your  house,  or  order  that  fellow  away!  You 
neod  not  fear  me;  I  am  a  friend.  I  come  with  a  message  from 
Colonel  Yenni." 

At  the  mention  of  tho  name.  Colonel  Yenni,  a  more  assured 
look  came  into  the  Spaniard's  face. 

"Follow  me,"  he  said,  and  he  led  the  way  into  his  elegant 
mansion. 


5S  MA&ON  MOORE, 

A  look  of  triumph  momentarily  flashed  over  our  hero's  face. 

The  detective,  in  accordance  with  the  old  proverb,  was  killing 
two  birds  with  one  stone;  he  was  trailing  down  a  suspected 
moonshiner  capitalist,  and  trailing  the  mystery  attending  the 
murder  of  the  beautiful  Lucy  Bridges. 

The  Spaniard  led  the  detective  into  a  large  room,  where  a 
strange  gloom  appeared  to  pervade. 

The  windows  were  all  closed,  admitting  no  light  from  without, 
although  it  was  still  daylight. 

Upon  a  round  table  in  the  center  of  the  floor  stood  a  student's 
lamp,  and  from  the  latter  was  emitted  the  only  illumination  of 
the  apartment. 

The  detective  was  halted  at  the  door  of  the  room  described. 
He  was  permitted  to  glance  in  and  observe  the  facts  noted  above, 
when  a  most  singular  demand  was  made. 

"You  come  as  a  friend?"  said  the  Spaniard. 

"  I  come  on  business,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  to  me?" 

"I  am." 

"You  are  armed?" 

"Well?" 

"You  may  be  an  assassin." 

"I  am  not." 

"I  trust  you  are  not  for  your  own  sake;  but  please  notice  that 
I  have  trusted  you  so  far  as  to  lead  you  to  the  door  of  this  room; 
it  is  my  private  apartment,  you  and  I  will  enter  alone,  but  I  must 
first  insist  upon  one  requirement." 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?" 

"You  claim  to  come  purely  on  business?" 

"Yes." 

"You  will  have  no  use  for  weapons  in  a  matter  of  business; 
you  must  leave  your  weapons  outside  of  this  room." 

"What  proof  will  I  have  that  you  are  not  armed?"  asked  our 
hero. 

"  You  have  sought  me,  I  have  not  sought  you;  yoii  may  medi 
tate  doing  me  a  harm.  You  must  know  that  as  you  have  come 
to  me  that  I  would  have  no  motive  in  harming  you." 

There  was  truth  in  the  Spaniard's  statement,  and  it  would  have 
;i]>;>< 'iirod  as  a  very  suspicious  circumstance  if  the  detective  had 
declined  to  leave  his  weapons  outside  the  room. 

As  a  sort  of  apology  the  Spaniard  said: 

"  You  nrnst  remember  that  these  are  excited  times,  and  I  have 
a  perfect  right  to  be  on  my  guard  against  any  surprise. 

The  detective  drew  a  number  of  pistols  from  his  pocket  and 
laid  them  against  the  surbasp  beside  the  door;  he  also  disarmed 
himself  of  a  couple  of  formidable-looking  bowie-knives. 


THE  -SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  r,:i 

"Now,  sir!"  he  said,  "please  search  me,  and  assure  yourself 
that  I  have  retained  no  weapons." 

The  Spaniard  did  not  hesitate  to  do  as  requested,  and  the  de 
tective  noted  the  fact  that  the  man  was  an  expert  as  far  as  possible 
concealment  of  weapons  was  concerned. 

His  examination  was  thorough  and  complete. 


CHAPTEB  XV. 

A   STRANGE   TABLEAU. 

"  Is  it  all  right?"  asked  the  detective,  when  the  examination  of 
his  clothing  was  completed. 

"It's  all  right;  come  in!" 

As  Macoii  Moore  stepped  over  the  threshold  the  Spaniard 
closed  and  locked  the  door,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

"  I'm  a  mouse  in  a  trap!"  observed  the  detective,  mentally,  as 
he  saw  the  movement,  and  a  peculiar  smile  flitted  over  his  face. 

"  I  lock  the  door  in  compliment  to  yourself,"  said  the  Spaniard. 
"You  appear  to  wish  to  be  assured  of  absolute  privacy. " 

"It's  all  right,  sir!" 

The  Spaniard  seated  himself  at  the  table  on  which  stood  the 
student's  lamp,  and  motioned  our  hero  to  a  seat  opposite. 

The  latter  saw  a  look  of  confidence  on  the  Spaniard's  face, 
backed  by  a  sinister  expression  of  triumph. 

"  He  thinks  he  has  me  disarmed  and  at  his  mercy,"  thought 
the  detective;  but  he  gave  no  sign,  and  seated  himself  directly 
opposite  Arteaga. 

The  Spaniard  drew  open  a  drawer  in  the  table,  and  took 
therefrom  a  pair  of  highly-polished  pistols,  and  in  perfectly 
even  tones,  remarked: 

"Merely  a  warranted  precaution.  I  mean  you  no  harm,  but  I 
have  the  right  to  be  upon  my  guard;  now  what  is  your  business?" 

"There  has  passed  between  us  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary 
ceremony,"  said  the  detective. 

"There  are  times  when  a  little  ceremony,  such  as  you  have 
witnessed,  is  necessary;  now  please  name  your  business. " 

"  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  you  are  under  suspicion." 

"?«dt>  not  understand  you." 

"  Colonel  Yenni  has  found  it  necessary  to  notify  every  one  of 
the  gang  that  danger  is  ahead." 

"I  tell  you  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"I  can  offer  no  explanations.  I  have  only  come  here  to  de 
liver  a  simple  message." 

"  "What  danger  menaces  me?" 

"  Macon  Moore,  the  great  detective,  is  especially  on  your 
track!" 


GO  MAC  OX  MOOKK. 

A  fearful  expression  came  over  the  Spaniard's  face. 

"  Macon  Moore  on  my  track?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes." 

"  Why  should  Macon  Moore  be  upon  my  track?" 

"  He  has  trailed  YOU  down  as  engaged  in  tlte  business." 

"  Tis  false!" 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  I  am  only  delivering  a 
message." 

"  Have  you  any  further  message  to  deliver?" 

"Yes." 

"Proceed." 

"Col.  Yenni  told  me  to  tell  you  that  you  were  suspected  of 
having  a  hand  in  the  outrages  upon  the  parson's  daughter." 

The  Spaniard's  face  became  perfectly  livid;  his  eyes  rolled,  and 
his  complexion  assumed  a  ghastly  hue. 

With  a  fearful  oath  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  presenting  one  of 
the  cocked  pistols  directly  against  the  detective's  heart,  de 
manded  : 

"  Who  are  you?" 

Not  a  muscle  of  the  steel-nerved  detective's  face  quivered,  as, 
in  perfectly  even  tones,  he  answered: 

"Take  things  easy;  sit  down;  I  am  only  a  messenger,  and  I 
have  more  news  to  communicate." 

The  Spaniard  sat  down,  and,  in  a  husky  voice,  remarked: 

"Be  careful,  my  man,  what  you  say.  I  hold  your  life  in  my 
hands.  Make  the  first  movement,  and  I  will  send  a  ball  through 
your  brain!" 

"Well,  you  are  a  violent  man.  You  made  me  disarm  myself 
because  you  feared  I  might  be  an  assassin  in  disguise,  and  pray 
what  are  you?" 

"  I  have  no  time  for  idle  bantering." 

In  his  excitement  the  Spaniard  had  forgotten  his  broken  Eng 
lish,  and  used  as  good  language  as  a  highly  cultured  American. 

In  a  cool,  aggravating  manner,  the  detective  asked: 

"Be  you  a  real  Spaniard?" 

Once  more  Artoaga  leaped  to  his  feet  and  was  about  to  place 
the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  against  the  detective's  heart,  but  the  latter 
rose  also,  and,  from  some  strange  place  of  concealment,  drew  a 
cocked  weapon,  and  said: 

"  Don't  raise  your  hand,  mister.     If  you  do  I'll  drop  you!" 

The  Spaniard's  half-raised  arm  fell  to  his  side  as  though 
stricken  with  a  sudden  paralysis. 

'You  are  an  awful  man,"  said  the  detective. 

'Fellow,  vou  deceived  me!" 

'How?" 

'You  are  armed!" 

'You  searched  me  yourself." 


,     THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  61 

"  Who  are  you?" 

"  I  told  you  two  or  three  times  J.  was  a  mere  messenger." 

"You  think  you  have  tracked  me?" 

"  No;  1  have  only  exercised  the  same  precaution  that  you 
claimed  for  yourself,  and  just  now  I  feel  that  the  point  was  well 
taken." 

"  You  are  still  at  my  mercy." 

"Ami?" 

"  You  are." 

"How  so?" 

"A  stamp  of  my  foot  would  bring  a  dozen  armed  men  into  the 
room." 

"A  stamp  of  your  foot  under  those  circumstances  would  bring 
you  something  else." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"A  bullet  through  your  heart." 

"Two  can  play  at  that  game." 

"Yes,  my  friend,  but  I've  got  the  bead  on  you  just  at  this  mo 
ment,  and,  for  convenience'  sake,  we  will  not  break  this  pleasant 
and  striking  little  tableau — in  other  words,  we  will  not  change 
our  positions  until  my  errand  is  complete." 

"What  more  have  you  to  say?" 

"I  do  not  know  as  I  ought  to  give  you  any  further  warning; 
you  have  not  received  it  in  a  friendly  spirit." 

"  You  are  an  impostor!" 

"  What  makes  you  think  so,  Mr.  Arteaga?" 

The  detective  pronounced  the  name  Arteaga  in  a  very  pecu 
liar  manner,  and  a  spasm  passed  over  the  Spaniard's  face. 

"You  have  not  deceived  me.  I 'knew  from  the  first  you  were 
a  fraud.  You  will  never  leave  the  house  alive!" 

"  Ah!  you  are  the  man  who  was  talking  a  moment  ago  about 
assassins." 

"jl  knew  I  was  talking  to  one." 

A  strange  tableau  was  presented  at  the  moment  in  that  dark 
ened  room. 

Macon  Moore,  clad  in  his  red  shirt  and  slouch  hat,  really  did 
look  like  an  assassin,  as  he  stood  with  his  cocked  pistol  leveled 
at  the  head  of  the  Spaniard,  and  the  latter  was  not  a  less  strik 
ing  figure,  with  his  pale  face  and  gleaming  eyes. 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 

SUKROUNDED    BY  FOES. 

A  second's  silence  followed  the  Spaniard's  last  remark. 
A  noise  had  been  heard  without,  and  both  men  were  listening 
to  the  sounds. 


V2  MACOX  MOORE, 

A  cold  chill  went  to  Macon  Moore's  heart. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  men  of  courage  never  feel  the 
cold  chill  of  apprehension.  There  are  times  when  just  such  men 
more  fully  and  keenly  realize  their  peril  than  others;  and  though 
they  ma}'  give  no  outward  sign,  they  inwardly  feel  chilled  by 
some  cold  shadow  overhanging  them. 

The  sound  without  that  at  the  moment  was  holding  the  atten 
tion  of  both  men  was  the  clatter  of  many  horses'  feet. 

The  Spaniard  had  just  remarked:  "I  knew  I  was  talking  to 
an  assassin!1'  and  it  was  just  at  this  point  that  the  startling  in 
terruption  had  come. 

A  little  more  thrilling  event,  however,  occurred  an  instant 
later,  and  while  the  clatter  of  the  horsemen  without  continued. 

Macon  Moore  still  held  the  Spaniard  at  bay  with  his  weapon, 
and  was  about  to  make  a  remark,  when  the  words  were  frozen  to 
his  lips  by  hearing  a  succession  of  soul-piercing  shrieks. 

The  cries  came  from  a  woman. 

A  sudden  impulse  thrilled  Macon  Moore.  He  knew  that  by 
the  sacrifice  of  the  man's  life,  whom  he  held  at  his  mercy,  he 
could  save  his  own  life. 

To  spare  the  man  was  to  invite  his  own  death,  and  he  had  but 
a  few  seconds  wherein  to  decide. 

The  shrieks  had  not  been  renewed.  There  had  come  a  few 
wild,  despairing  cries  and  all  was  still — as  still  as  though  the 
lips  that  uttered  those  agonizing  screams  had  been  sealed  in 
death. 

Even  at  that  moment  the  true  humanity  of  Macon  Moore  was 
displayed. 

The  hero  of  a  hundred  deadly  hand-to-hand  scrimmages  could 
not  shoot  down  even  so  bad  a  villain  as  he  believed  the  pretended 
Spaniard  to  be  in  cold  blood. 

Quick  as  a  flash  our  hero  dealt  his  man  a  blow,  and  the  latter 
reeled  and  fell  to  the  floor;  with  equal  quickness  the  detective 
forced  a  gag  into  his  victim's  mouth,  and  fastened  handcuffs 
around  his  wrists;  and  again  with  a  silk  handkerchief  he  bound 
his  two  feet.  The  man  lay  helpless. 

The  blow  he  had  received  had  knocked  him  into  temporary 
insensibility,  and  he  remained  unconscious  during  the  gagging 
and  binding  process. 

Macon  Moore  took  the  key  from  the  man's  pocket,  and  loap- 
ing  across  the  room  opened  the  door  and  l*»t  himself  out.  Im 
mediately  closing  and  locking  the  door  behind  him,  he  sprang 
•up  the  stairs  just  as  a  number  of  hard  knocks  came  rattling 
against  the  great  entrance-floor. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  sun  was  fast  sinking  in 
the  west. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  the  detective  stopped  and  listened. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  63 

There  was  no  sound  of  life  around  the  house,  save  the  knocks 
upon  the  door,  that  had  become  furious  and  violent. 

"Would  it  were  night!"  muttered  the  detective,  as  he  passed 
along  the  broad  hall  to  a  window  overlooking  the  lawn. 

A  startling  sight  met  his  gaze. 

He  counted  thirty-two  horses,  showing  a  force  of  men  too 
heavy  for  him  to  combat  under  any  circumstances. 

For  once  the  desperate  man  felt  that  he  was  in  a  quandary. 

The  rapping  at  the  door  was  continuous,  and  the  detective 
knew  that  it  would  speedily  be  burst  in  and  his  presence  dis 
covered. 

There  was  no  chance  for  him  to  leave  the  house  unseen,  as  it 
was  completely  surrounded. 

Macon  Moore  had  been  in  a  tight  place  a  hundred  times,  when 
his  life  had  hung  on  a  thread;  but  his  present  predicament  ap 
peared  absolutely  hopeless. 

He  resolved  on  a  most  wonderful  expedient. 

But  one  chance  appeared  open  to  him,  and  it  was  by  just  such 
expedients  that  he  had  escaped  many  times  in  the  past. 

The  knocking  continued,  and  he  descended  the  stairs  to  the 
lower  hall.  % 

His  game  was  balked. 

Right  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  saw  the  Indian  stealing  towards 
the  door. 

Like  an  unleashed  tiger  the  resolute  man  sprang  upon  the 
Indian  and  seized  him  by  the  throat. 

The  Indian  struggled;  but  he  Avas  in  a  powerful  grip,  and  the 
hold  upon  his  throat  weakened  him. 

The  fingers  of  the  detective  tightened,  and  the  man  became 
black  in  the  face,  and  finally  sank  to  the  floor  as  helpless  and 
limp  as  a  drowned  man. 

Quick  as  thought  the  detective  raised  the  Indian  in  his  arms 
and  ran  tip-stairs  with  him,  where,  with  equal  quickness,  he 
bound  him  as  he  had  the  Spaniard. 

It  may  appear  strange  that  one  man  could  thus  overcome  and 
secure  two;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  our  hero  was  no 
ordinary  individual,  but  an  extraordinary  man  who  had  been 
trained 'through  many  perils  so  as  to  act  in  just  such  an  emer 
gency. 

foe  knocking  at  the  door  had  momentarily  ceased. 

All  that  the  detective  feared  was  that  it  would  be  broken  in 
before  he  could  carry  out  his  scheme. 

He  started  to  descend  the  stairs,  when  the  rapping  was  re 
newed. 

Macon  Moore  stepped  to  the  door  and  drew  the  bolts,  at  the 
same  time  calling  out: 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  be  patient!" 


•  it  MACON  MOORE, 

The  next  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  our  audacious 
hero  faced  Colonel  Yenni. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  colonel,  have  you  a  doctor  with  you!" 

"A  doctor!" 

"Yes;  quick!  Arteaga  is  dying!" 

"  Arteaga  dying!''  repeated  the  colonel. 

The  detective  had  spoken  in  such  an  assured  and  rapid  man 
ner  that  the  leader  of  the  night-riders  had  not  had  time  to  in 
dulge  a  suspicion,  even  had  there  been  anything  to  excite  such  a 
sentiment. 

Stepping  out  to  the  verge  of  the  piazza,  Colonel  Yenni  called 
out: 

"Is  Dr.  Landers  with  us  to-day?" 

The  answer  came: 

"No." 

"Lend  me  your  horse,  colonel,  we  must  have  a  doctor  imme 
diately!" 

"Yes,  take  my  horse;  where  will  I  find  Arteaga,  and  when  was 
he  taken?" 

"The  man  will  die  if  I  stop  to  answer  questions;  you  will 
find  him  in  his  bed-room.  Pedro  is  with  him." 

The  detective  had  learned  the  Indian's  name,  and  as  he  pro 
nounced  it  he  darted  down  the  stoop,  and  mounting  the  colonel's 
horse,  dashed  away. 

There  was  one  man  among  those  riders  who  uttered  the  excla 
mation: 

"  Good  heavens!"  but  he  said  no  more. 

The  colonel's  horse  was  a  good  one,  and  put  to  his  mettle  at 
the  first  bound,  he  sped  away  like  the  wind. 

The  man  who  had  made  the  exclamation  "Good  heavens!"  ad 
vanced  to  where  the  colonel  was  standing  on  the  stoop,  and 
asked : 

'Who  was  that  man?" 

'A  friend  of  Arteaga's." 

'I  hope  you  may  find  you  are  not  mistaken." 

'What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Yenni,  in  an  excited  tone. 

'I  think  that  man  was  the  parson  in  another  rig!" 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

THE   DETECTIVE   RECOGNIZED. 

Colonel  Yenni  seized  hold  of  the  man  who  had  made  the  start 
ling  statement,  and  exclaimed: 


What  is  that  you  say?" 
mis 
eye 


»  UHL   IS    Lllitt    JTUU    OWJ   : 

"  I  may  be  mistaken,  but,  by  Heaven!  I  caught  just  one  glance 
of  that  man's  eye  as  he  leaped  upon  that  horse,  and  if  it  wasn't 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  65 

Macon  Moore  I'll  never  swear  to  any  man's  identity  again  as 
long  as  I  live!" 

"  Mount!  mount!  all  hands  mount  and  away  after  that  scoun 
drel  in  the  slouch  hat  and  red  shirt!"  called  the  colonel,  follow 
ing  his  command  with  a  volley  of  oaths,  terrible  to  hear,  while 
in  continuance,  he  exclaimed: 

"  Shoot  him  down  like  a  dog,  and  ask  no  questions!" 

The  men  were  in  their  saddles  in  no  time,  but  the  daring 
rider,  mounted  on  the  colonel's  horse,  the  swiftest  of  the  lot, 
had  fully  three  minutes'  start. 

He  was  over  a  mile  away,  and  out  of  sight  by  the  time  the  pur 
suers  had  struck  the  road. 

The  men  knew  from  the  start  that  it  was  a  vain  chase. 

In  the  first  place,  it  was  Macon  Moore  whom  they  were  pur 
suing — a  more  daring  rider  than  the  great  English  highwayman, 
Claude  Duval. 

Again,  the  pursued  was  mounted  on  the  best  horse  in  that 
section  of  the  country.  Pursuit,  with  a  chance  of  capture,  was 
hopeless. 

In  the  meantime,  the  detective  sped  along,  laughing  one  mo 
ment  and  filled  with  a  desire  to  curse  the  next. 

His  laugh  was  one  of  delight  and  triumph  at  his  success  in 
evading  his  foes.  His  chagrin  came  from  a  knowledge  that  he 
was  fleeing  from  the  house  where  those  agonized  screams  had 
been  uttered  by  a  female  voice. 

In  the  distance  our  hero  saw  a  rider,  and  a  still  more  wonder 
ful  scheme  was  suggested  to  him  than  the  one  he  had  just  car 
ried  out. 

He  was  mounted  upon  a  good  horse,  and  he  put  the  animal  to 
his  best  speed,  at  the  same  time  turning  his  head  to  discover  if 
ho  could  see  anything  of  his  pursuers,  for  from  the  top  of  the 
hill  he  had  seen  the  horsemen  on  his  track,  and  knew  that  he  was 
being  pursued. 

The  pursuers  were  not  in  sight.  The  road  was  a  winding  one, 
and  he  had  nan  along  on  an  extended  turn. 

A  few  moments  brought  him  within  a  few  yards  of  the  horse 
man  he  espied  from  a  distance. 

Fortune  favored  him. 

He  recognized  the  man  as  one  of  the  ten  he  had  encountered 
at^the  tavern. 

^*Tt's  dog  eat  dog!"  muttered  the  detective,  as  he  reined  up 
beside  the  other  horseman. 
'Well  met!"  he  exclaimed. 
'"What  is  up?"  asked  the  man. 
'Colonel  Yenni  has  been  wounded!" 
'Wounded?" 
'Yes;  and  you  must  take  his  horse  and  ride  for  your  life." 


66  MACON  MOOKE, 

"Why  ride  for  my  life?" 

"Bring  a  doctor  to  Arteaga's!" 

"Why  do  you  not  ride'?" 

"1  am  to  go  for  a  lawyer.  Come!  come!  no  time  is  to  be  lost. 
I  will  take  your  horse." 

Tiif  iiKin  dismounted,  when  the  wonderful  detective  said: 

"We  must  change  hats  and  coats;  night  is  coming  on  and  the 
roads  will  be  guarded  on  your  return.  I  would  not  have  you 
run  any  risk." 

The  man  consented  to  a  change.  He  knew  that  if  the  roads 
were  to  be  guarded  it  was  safer  to  be  dressed  in  a  rig  that  would 
not  be  recognized  at  a  distance  or  in  the  darkness. 

The  moment  the  men  had  changed  clothes  and  horses  the  de 
tective  said: 

"  Now  ride  for  your  life,"  and  he  gave  the  colonel's  horse  a 
sharp  prod. 

The  excited  animal  sped  away,  while  our  hero  drew  the  rider's 
horse  to  the  side  of  the  road  and  led  him  into  the  thicket. 

Tlic  time  occupied  by  the  two  men  in  changing  horses  was  not 
more  than  a  minute,  and  the  detective  had  just  withdrawn  with 
the  duped  man's  horse  into  the  thicket  when  the  pursuers  came 
in  sight  around  a  point  in  the  road. 

As  they  arrived  opposite  the  spot  where  the  detective  was  con 
cealed,  one  of  them  cried  out: 

"  There's  our  man!     WTe  are  gaining  on  him!" 

Macon  Moore  laughed.  He  had  come  many  a  sharp  trick  in 
his  time,  but  he  gloried  in  having  accomplished  two  of  the  most 
wonderful  feats  of  all  his  experience. 

He  had  walked  out  of  Arteaga's  house  in  front  of  the  whole 
gang  of  riders,  and  lie  had  sent  the  whole  squad  of  pursuers  in 
pursuit  of  one  of  their  own  men. 

The  moment  the,  men  were  well  on  the  road  our  hero  mounted 
his  borrowed  steed  and  leisurely  trotted  back  towards  Arteaga's 
mansion. 

When  within  an  eighth  of  a  mile  of  the  place  he  led  his  ani 
mal  into  the  thicket  and  tethered  him,  and  pursued  his  w:ty  on 
foot  towards  the  scene  of  his  recent  most  thrilling  adventures. 

In  the  meantime  Colonel  Yenni  had  made  some  startling  dis 
coveries. 

From  the  beginning  he  had  no  confidence  in  the  idea  that  the 
man  in  the  red  shirt  was  Macon  Moore. 

He  believed  that  his  man  had  merely  conceived  such  a  notion; 
still,  he  thought  it  just  as  well  to  order  a  pursuit,  as,  having  re 
covered  from  the  suddenness  of  the  man's  announcement,  lie 
thought  the  fellow's  dopartn;  ioug. 

Colonel  Yenni  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  Spaniard's.    They 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  (37 

were  partners  in  business,  and  the  former  had  no  suspicion  of 
the  real  character  of  the  latter. 

In  the  upper  hall  the  colonel  saw  the  form  of  a  man  stretched 
upon  the  lloor. 

Tne  mail's  position  for  the  moment  appeared  to  confirm  the 
stut. -meat  of  the  man  iii  the  red  shirt. 

Advancing  to  ttie  man,  who  was  lying  upon  his  face,  the 
colonel  turned  him  over  and  recognized  the  Indian  Pedro,  and 
at  the  same  instant  beheld  that  the  man  was  handcuffed  and 
gagged. 

it  was  but  the  work  of  a  second  to  remove  the  gag  and  hand- 
c nil's  and  unbiiid  the  feet. 

"  Who  placed  you  in  this  condition  ?"  came  the  excited 
query. 

The  man  for  a  moment  was  unable  to  reply,  his  lips  having 
become  temporarily  paralyzed  by  the  gag.  When  he  recovered 
his  speech  he  said: 

"  Man  in  the  red  shirt." 

"Heavens!"  moaned  Yenni,  "has  that  wonderful  individual 
escaped  me  once  more?" 

It  still  seemed  too  extraordinary  for  belief. 

As  the  colonel  thought  over  the  fact  that  the  man  had  not  only 
escaped,  but  had  gone  off  on  his  own  favorite  horse,  deep  and 
bitter  curses  rose  to  his  lips. 

"  Where  is  Arteaga?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

"  Dead,  I  reckon." 

"Dead?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  the  man  did  tell  the  truth.     Arteaga  was  sick?" 

"  No,  not  sick,  but  man  in  red  shirt  killed  him." 

"  Where  is  the  body?" 

"  In  the  library." 

The  colonel  descended  the  stairs  and  tried  the  library  door. 

It  was  locked,  and  he  rapped  once  or  twice,  but  there  came 
no  response. 

"Force  the  door!"  said  the  Indian,  and  when  the  door  had 
been  forced  a  strange  sight  was  witnessed. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COLONEL   YE?TN'l's   DISCOVERY. 

Arteaga  lay  upon  the  floor,  bound  and  gagged  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  Indian  had  been. 

The  Spaniard  was  released,  and  Colonel  Yenni  put  the  same 
question  to  him  that  had  been  addressed  to  Pedro: 

"  How  camo  you  in  this  condition?" 


I  is  MACON   MOORE, 

When  Arteaga  was  capable  of  speaking,  he  answered: 

"  The  man  iii  the  red  shirt." 

"  A  thousand  curses  follow  the  man  in  the  red  shirt!"  was  the 
denunciation  that  full  from  Colonel  Yenui's  lips. 

Mr.  Avteaga  related  all  that  had  occurred,  when  the  colonel 
asked : 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  the  man  in  the  red  shirt  really  was?" 

"I  have  not." 

"You  have  been  the  victim  of  Macon  Moore." 

"  Macon  Moore!"  almost  screamed  the  Spaniard. 

"Yes;  Macon  Moore,  the  great  Southern  detective!" 

"Then  1  am  undone!"  moaned  the  Spaniard,  as  a  recollection 
flashed  over  his  mind  as  to  the  strange  revelations  that  the 
man  in  the  red  shirt  had  made. 

"  That  was  Macon  Mooro  himself?" 

"  It  was." 

"You  are  sure?" 

"I  am  sxire." 

"I  must  leave  this  part  of  the  country,  then,  at  once." 

"Why  must  you  leave,  any  more  than  the  rest  of  us." 

"  He  has  me  '  piped  '  down  to  a  fine  point." 

"  He  has  not  got  you  '  piped  '  down  any  finer  than  he  has  me. 
Did  he  not  use  my  name  to  gain  your  confidence?" 

It  was  not  on  the  matter  of  the  illicit  business  that  the  Span 
iard  felt  that  he  had  been  "piped"  down;  the  detective  had 
spoken  of  certain  facts  concerning  him  that  were  not  known 
even  to  Colonel  Yenni. 

The  men  remained  talking  over  their  peril  until  night  fell. 

Little  did  they  dream  that  at  that  very  moment  the  wonderful 
man,  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  was  stretched  along  the 
floor  near  the  door  of  the  library,  listening  to  every  word  that 
was  spoken. 

While  thus  listening,  the  detective  heard  the  conspirators  dis 
cussing,  in  the  most  cold-blooded  manner,  various  schemes  for 
his  assassination. 

The  Spaniard  had  at  first  objected  to  taking  any  hand  in  tho 
affair,  not  through  any  compunction  he  might  have  felt,  but 
because  he  had  come  to  look  upon  the  detective  with  the  utmost 
terror. 

Colonel  Yenni,  however,  had  convinced  him  that  any  attempt 
to  escape  consequences  by  flight  was  chimerical. 

"  That  man,"  said  tho  colonel,  "  if  he  lias  any  points  to  '  work 
up'  against  you,  will  follow  yon  to  the  ends  of  the  earth;  like 
the  dog-fiend  in  human  shape  that  he  is,  he  will  trail  you  to 
the  very  brink  of  the  grave.  While  he  is  above  ground  you  can 
never  escape  him;  your  only  safety  lies  in  his  death." 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  69 

"I  will  give  ten  thousand  dollars  in  gold  for  one  second's 
glance  upon  his  dead  face!"  exclaimed  Arteaga. 

"Never  fear,  you  will  have  that  pleasure  within  eight-and- 
forty  hours;  and  Macon  Moore  once  dead  we  will  have  the  field 
to  ourselves.  No  other  man  will  dare  attempt  where  he  has 
failed. " 

The  consultation  ended  with  the  understanding  that  Arteaga 
was  to  attend  the  meeting  of  the  night  riders  in  the  Valley  of 
Death.  The  meeting  had  been  called  for  midnight,  at  the  mo 
ment  that  the  moon  shot  below  the  western  horizon  and  left  the 
earth  under  the  gloom  of  a  moonless  night. 

As  Macon  Moore  stealthily  stole  away  from  his  position  be 
side  the  door,  he  muttered: 

"  I  will  be  at  the  Valley  of  Death  to-night!" 

As  it  appeared  that  Arteaga  had  never  attended  a  meeting  of 
the  night-riders,  Colonel  Yenni  had  told  him  all  the  ritual  at 
tending  the  secret  meetings,  including  the  pass-words  and 
signals  used  upon  various  occasions. 

Thus,  in  the  most  fortunate  manner,  the  daring  detective  had 
picked  up  all  the  secrets  of  the  banded  gang,  whose  sole  pur 
pose  at  the  time  was  to  accomplish  his  assassination. 

Arteaga  furnished  a  cold  lunch  and  wine  to  his  guest,  and 
was  informed  that  the  chances  were  that  at  the  very  moment 
Moore  was  dead. 

"My  men,"  he  said,  "have  orders  to  ride  him  to  death,  and  I 
trust  that  upon  their  return  you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of 
gazing  upon  his  dead  face  without  the  expenditure  of  one 
cent." 

It  was  after  the  above  declaration  that  Macon  Moore  had 
stolen  away. 

The  detective  had  returned  to  the  house  with  a  set  purpose. 

It  was  his  idea  that  the  beautiful  Lucy  Bridges  was  a  prisoner 
beneath  that  roof. 

Circumstances  had  prevented  him  from  making  a  search,  but 
the  time  had  come  for  him  to  cast  about  and  learn  what  the 
mystery  of  that  gloomy  mansion  might  be. 

The  detective,  lantern  in  hand,  passed  from  room  to  room. 
He  had  a  method  of  his  own  for  forcing  locked  doors,  and  noise 
lessly  gained  entrances  where  others  would  have  failed. 

He  was  baffled  for  the  time  being,  and  further  search  was 
necessarily  postponed  owing  to  the  return  of  the  riders. 

It  would  not  do  for  the  bold  man  to  be  caught  in  that  house; 
and  he  knew  that  when  the  men  told  the  story  as  to  how  they 
had  been  fooled  a  search  might  bo  instituted. 

Our  hero  had  also  another  duty  to  perform,  and  he  made  his 
way  from  the  house  in  the  darkness,  and  proceeding  to  where  his 
horsfc  was  tethered,  galloped  away. 


70  MACON  MOOKK. 

Macon  Moore  rode  seven  miles,  and  finally  reined  up  his  steed 
in  front  of  an  old-fashioned  house. 
It  was  still  early  in  the  evening. 

The  detective  stepped  upon  the  broad  piazza  running  along 
the  front  of  the  house,  and  walked  along  toward  a  window, 
through  which  flashed  a  bright  light. 

Peering  through  the  glass,  he  saw  an  old  man  seated  at  a 
table,  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands.  The  detective  tapped 
gently  upon  the  window-pane,  when  the  old  man  leaped  to  his 
feet,  and  advancing  to  the  window,  glanced  out. 

The  detective  motioned  for  the  man  to  come  forth,  but  the 
latter  showed  no  signs  of  complying  with  the  sign  request. 

The  detective  uttered  a  low  whistle,  when  the  old  man  at  once 
raised  the  window  and  came  forth. 
"  Moore,  is  it  you?" 
"  Hush!"  came  the  warning. 

Mr.  Bridges  stood  silent,  when  the  detective  motioned  him  to 
follow. 

Our  hero  led  the  way  down  the  piazza  and  across  the  lawn  to 
the  shadow  of  a  clump  of  trees. 
'  Now  speak  low,"  said  Moore. 
'  What  news  do  you  bring?" 
'Bad." 

'  Mv  daughter  is  dead?" 
•No." 

'  What  has  befallen  her?" 
'  She  is  a  prisoner." 
'  In  whose  hands?" 
'  I  cannot  tell  you  now." 

'I  will  go  and  appeal  to  the  authorities!"  exclaimed  the  old 
man,  trembling  with  excitement. 

"You  might  as  well  appeal  to  the  naked  branches  of  yonder 
tree.  Nay,  good  man,  you  must  trust  to  me,  and  all  shall  yet 
come  out  right." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

PREPARING   FOB  A   THIRD   STARTLING  FEAT. 

The  detective,  in  a  few  words,  explained  all  that  had  occurred 
since  he  had  parted  from  the  old  clergyman,  only  withholding 
the  name  of  the  man  who  was  supposed  to  have  instigated  the 
rapture  of  the  girl.  He  merely  allowed  the  old  man  to  suppose 
that  Lucy  was  missing,  and  said  nothing  concerning  the  blood- 
trails  that  he  had  found. 

The  detective  alc-o  demonstrated  to  the  old  man  how  useless 
would  be  any  appeal  to  law. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  71 

" These  men,"  said  lie,  "defy  the  law,  and  its  officers  are  para- 
lized  in  the  presence  of  such  a  well-organized  gang  of  despera 
does." 

Mr.  Bridges  had  been  a  resident  of  the  State  long  enough  to 
realize  that  the  declarations  of  the  detective  were  true.  Had  the 
occurrence  happened  in  a  more  thickly-settled  portion  of  the 
commonwealth  it  would  have  been  different,  but  in  the  region 
where  the  outrage  occurred,  as  matters  were,  it  was  necessary  to 
meet  force  with  force,  cunning  with  cunning,  and  might  with 
might. 

The  detective  asked  the  old  clergyman  a  strange  question: 

"  Did  vou  ever  know  an  octoroon  named  Silas?" 

"I  did"."  • 

"When,  and  where?" 

rt  He  was  once  the  property  of  one  of  my  parishioners." 

"  When  did  you  last  see  him?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  him  for  ten  years." 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  Spaniard  named  Arteaga?" 

"I  have  heard  of  him;  he  lives  about  seven  miles  from  here." 

"You  know  nothing  about  him?" 

"Yes;  I  know  something  about  him." 

"  What  do  you  know?" 

"He  once  met  my  daughter  in  the  city  of  Macon." 

"How  long  ago?" 

"About  three  years." 

"  Did  he  ever  pay  her  any  particular  attention?" 

"He  did;  he  sought  her  hand  in  marriage." 

"And  was  refused?" 

"With  scorn." 

"  Has  your  daughter  ever  seen  him  since?" 

"  Not  to  speak  to  him." 

"Where  was  his  home  at  the  time  he  was  paying  attentions  to 
.  your  daughter?" 

"  He  had  just  bought  the  estate  where  he  now  resides.  But, 
tell  me,  do  you  suspect  that  the  Spaniard  has  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  abduction  of  my  child?" 

"  1  only  hope  that  it  will  turn  out  that  such  is  the  fact." 
-'•'You  hope  such  will  turn  out  to  be  the  fact?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Because  she  will  be  safe  until  such  time  as  I  can  rescue  her; 
but  if  she  has  been  made  the  victim  of  the  moonshiners,  her  fate 
looks  dark." 

The  old  clergyman  betrayed  great  distress;  his  lamentations 
were  piteous  to  hear;  but  the  detective's  assurances  somewhat 
pacified  him, 


72  MACON  MOOEE, 

Our  hero  had  obtained  all  the  information  he  required,  and 
felt  that  he  knew  pretty  well  all  the  bearings. 
'  Can  you  bear  a  night's  fatigue?"  he  asked. 
'I  am  a  strong  old  man." 
'  You  have  my  horse?" 
'Yes." 

'  Saddle  and  mount  him,  and  join  me  at  the  turn  in  the  road 
beyond  the  tavern." 

Macon  Moore,  like  all  executive  men,  never  wasted  words. 

Twenty  minutes  subsequent  to  the  scene  above  described,  the 
clergyman  joined  the  detective  at  the  designated  place,  when  the 
latter  named  his  purpose. 

Our  hero  had  determined  to  visit  the  Valley  of  Death,  while  in 
the  meantime  he  desired  a  watch  to  be  kept  over  the  residence  of 
the  Spaniard,  Arteaga. 

Long  before  the  two  men  reached  the  Spaniard's  house,  old 
Mr.  Bridges  had  received  full  instructions. 

During  the  absence  of  Macon  Moore,  while  on  his  journey  to 
consult  with  Lucy's  father,  some  stirring  incidents  occurred  at 
the  mansion  of  Arteaga. 

The  riders  had  returned  from  their  chase  after  the  detective. 
They  were  met  at  the  porch  by  Colonel  Yenni. 

The  latter  asked: 

"Did  your  overtake  your  man?" 

The  question  was  addressed  to  a  man  named  Selph  Tracy. 
The  latter  was  a  notorious  character;  a  fellow  who  was  an  out 
law  in  several  States,  and  had  only  been  harbored  by  the  moon 
shiners  because  of  his  desperate  courage  and  recklessness. 

"You  sent  us  in  chase  of  the  devil!"  replied  Tracy. 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

Selph  Tracy  related  how  they  had  pursued  their  man,  and 
how  upon  closing  in  on  him  had  blazed  away  at  him,  when  the 
pursued  halted  and  waved  a  white  handkerchief  as  a  signal  of 
surrender. 

"Then  you  captured  him?" 

"  "We  captured  the  man  on  horseback." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you!"  cried  Yenni,  impatiently. 

"  "NVo  had  been  pursuing  one  of  our  own  men,  and  it  is  only  a 
mercy  that  we  did  not  lay  him  out  when  we  blazed  away  at 
him!"  Aad  Tracy  proceeded  to  relate  what  an  extraordinary 
"  sell  "  the  detective  had  played  upon  his  pursuers. 

Colonel  Yenni  was  speechless  with  amazement.  In  fact,  he 
was  too  dumbfounded  to  swear,  and  he  was  known  as  one  of  the 
profanest  men  in  the  whole  State. 

At  length  ho  managed  to  ejaculate: 

"I  believe  that  man  is  in  league  with  the  devil!" 

"  Then  we  had  better  give  up  the  fight  against  him!" 


THE  SOUTHEEN  DETECTIVE.  73 

"  Never!     We'll  down  liim  yet!"  cried  the  colonel. 

The  riders  Avere  all  furnished  refreshments  by  Arteaga,  when 
a  start  was  made  for  the  Valley  of  Death. 

When  the  men  were  assembling,  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  were 
studying  each  man. 

Macon  Moore  was  planning  for  a  third  extraordinary  feat;  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  be  present  at  the  midnight  meeting, 
and  was  taking  his  bearings  accordingly. 

The  men  were  told  off  in  true  military  fashion,  as  it  had  been 
decided  that  to  avoid  suspicion  and  the  possible  surveillance  of 
the  man  they  dreaded,  that  the  journey  to  the  rendezvous  should 
be  made  singly. 

The  men  were  to  take  different  routes. 

Little  did  they  dream  at  the  moment  that  by  this  very  plan 
they  were  favoring  the  deep-laid  plan  of  their  scourge. 

The  men  rode  off  singly  and  in  pairs.  Colonel  Yenni  and 
Arteaga  rode  together. 

At  length  all  had  departed,  save  one  man. 

The  latter  lingered  for  fully  half  an  hour  after  his  predecessor 
had  departed,  but  at  length  mounted  and  rode  away. 

He  rode  leisurely  along,  and  thereby  favored  a  man  who  was 
running  cross-road  afoot. 

Half  a  mile  from  Arteaga's  residence  was  a  small  stretch  of 
woods,  and  away  to  that  a  hill  rose  on  the  side  of  the  road;  op 
posite  to  the  line  of  trees  the  path  right  there  was  peculiarly 
dark  and  lonesome. 

The  night-rider  reached  the  part  of  the  road  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees.  He  was  walking  his  horse  and  appeared  lost  in 
deep  thought. 

Suddenly  a  dark  figure  emerged  from  the  wood  in  his  rear, 
and  stole  stealthily  along  after  him. 

The  man's  feet  were  moccasined,  and  he  moved  with  the  noise 
less  tread  of  a  cat. 

The  dodger  managed  to  steal  up  right  beside  the  rider,  who, 
owing  to  the  darkness,  failed  to  discover  the  presence  of  an 
enemy. 

Suddenly  a  figure  leaped  up  beside  the  rider,  and  a  strong 
pair.<*f  arms  were  thrust  about  the  latter's  neck,  and  an  instant 
later  both  men  were  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTEE   XX. 

ON  THE  EOAD  TO  THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH. 

The  stealthy  prowler  had  leaped  behind  the  rider  with  the 
lightness  of  a  cat,  and  with  the  strength  of  a  tiger  had  dragged 
him  down  to  the  road. 


7-A  MACON  MOORE, 

The  wliole  movement  had  been  executed  in  a  few  seconds' 
time. 

The  man  who  had  been  dragged  down  was  speechless  with  as 
tonishment,  and  before  he  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  make  an 
outcry  a  cocked  revolver  was  pressed  against  his  forehead,  and 
his  assailant  said: 

"  Do  not  speak  or  I  shoot!" 

The  man  did  not  speak,  death  was  too  close! 

"What  is  your  name?  answer  low!"  came  the  demand  and 
warning. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  what  means  this  outrage?" 

"I  am  your  murderer  if  you  do  not  answer  me!" 

"I  answer  no  man  who  holds  a  cocked  pistol  to  my  head  in 
order  to  obtain  an  answer  that  should  be  gained  by  civil  in 
quiry. " 

The  man  had  recovered  from  his  first  surpi'ise.  He  was  a  full- 
blooded  Southerner  and  a  brave  man,  and  who  would  actually 
have  died  before  he  would  have  had  an  answer  forced  from  him. 

None  understood  the  characters  of  the  men  with  whom  he  was 
thrown  against  better  than  Macon  Moore. 

The  keen  detective  saw  at  once  that  he  must  adopt  strategy  if. 
he  hoped  to  gain  an  answer. 

"I  know  you,  Tom  Secor,  you  are  a  traitor  to  the  riders!  I've 
been  watching  you  closely!" 

"  You  are  wrong  if  you  take  me  for  the  man  you  name." 

The  detective  made  one  of  the  signs  of  the  riders,  and  the  sig 
nal  was  answered. 

At  once  Moore  withdrew  the  cocked  pistol  from  the  man's  fore 
head,  and  said: 

"By  George!  I've  made  a  blunder!" 

"  Who  are  you?" 

The  detective  had  heard  the  name  of  but  one  of  the  riders, 
and  at  random  he  gave  the  man's  name. 

"  Who  are  you  acting  for?"  asked  the  man,  who  had  been  per 
mitted  to  riso  from  the  ground. 

"  Colonel  Yenni,"  came  the  answer. 

"Who  is  the  man  Secor?" 

"  A  new  recruit  to  the  riders.  I've  had  my  suspicions  of  him, 
and  had  made  up  my  mind  to  prevent  his  joining  at  the  meet  in 
tin-  Vulley  of  Death' to-night!" 

••  I  never  heard  the  man's  name." 

"Yon  resemble  him  in  appearance,  although  I've  seen  the  fel 
low  but  once." 

"  Well,  to  guard  against  any  further  mistakes,  you  might  as 
well  know  that  my  name  is  Tracy,  Self  Tracy." 

Qnick  as  a  flash  the  detective  threw  out  hand  and  foot,  and  his 
victim  was  once  more  borne  to  the  ground. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  75 

"You  are  ray  man,  friend  Tracy!  I  was  not  on  the  lay  for 
Secor  but  Tracy!" 

The  man  Tracy  attempted  to  struggle,  and  our  hero  found 
himself  pitted  against  one  who  was  almost  his  equal. 

Macon  Moore  could  have  killed  his  man,  but  as  our  readers 
know,  not  even  to  carry  out  the  most  important  scheme  would 
he  take  life  in  cold  blood. 

Th'^  struggle  continued  for  several  minutes.  Tracy  managed 
to  draw  his  bowie-knife,  and  came  within  a  hair's  breadth  of 
ending  the  detective's  career. 

At  length,  however,  our  hero  overcame  his  man,  and  managed 
to  disarm  him. 

When  at  his  assailant's  mercy,  Tracy  asked: 

"  Why  this  attack  upon  me?" 

"Oh!  I  was  testing  your  fidelity!"  but  while  making  the 
answer  Moore  was  carrying  out  a  most  singular  proceeding  by 
stripping  his  captive  of  his  clothes. 

Again  Tracy  asked:  "  Are  you  a  lunatic?" 

"You  will  find  out  I  am  not  a  lunatic,  you  traitor!" 

"  You  call  me  a  traitor?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  'Tis  a  false  accusation!" 

"  You  are  a  true  man,  eh?" 

"I  am." 

"  Then  why  are  you  traveling  under  a  false  number?" 

The  members  of  the  gang  were  all  numbered;  each  man  was 
addressed  by  his  number  instead  of  his  name;  thus  the  com 
mands  would  be,  Number  Ten  will  do  so  and  so;  Number  Eight 
has  the  floor;  and  One  will  bear  a  report  from  Number  Thirteen. 

There  were  many  men  belonging  to  the  riders  who  owned 
property,  and  others  who  did  business  in  some  of  the  adjoining 
towns,  and  there  were  professional  men  who  were  members  also. 

Macon  Moore  had  accused  the  man  of  traveling  under  a  false 
number,  and  he  had  a  purpose  in  making  the  accusation. 

Tracy  indignantly  denied  traveling  under  a,  false  number. 

Our  hero  had  noticed  a  badge  on  the  lapel  of  the  man's  coat, 
and  said: 

"J^Jcnow  you  are  traveling  under  a  false  number,  and  you 
could  only  do  so  for  some  sinister  purpose. " 

"You  are  riding  to  the  Valley  of  Death?" 

"  I  am." 

"  Take  me  with  you,  and  if  I  am  not  Number  Tucenty-Two  I  am 
willing  to  suffer  all  the  consequences." 

"Yon  cannot  come  that  over  me!" 

"  What  you  are  doin?  will  cost  you  your  life!" 

The  detective  had  robbed  the  man  of  all  his  outer  clothing. 

"  I  have  balked  your  game  for  to-night!"  remarked  the  detec- 


76  MACOX  MOORE,- 

tive,  as  he  removed  bis  own  clothing  and  put  on  what  he  had 
taken  from  his  captive. 

Tracy  exclaimed:  "  You  are  up  to  some  game  yourself!" 

"Ami?" 

"Yes;  and  I  begin  to  suspect  who  you  are." 

"All  right;  you  can  report  me  to  Yenni !"  was  the  cool 
reply. 

Having  assumed  the  man's  garments,  he  put  his  own  clothes 
on  his  victim. 

The  latter  writhed  in  agony.  The  truth  had  come  to  him.  He 
remembered  the  trick  Macon  Moore  had  played  upon  one  of  the 
riders  that  very  afternoon,  and  he  began  to  realize  that  he  had 
himself  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  great  detective. 

Having  robed  his  victim,  our  hero  proceeded  to  bind  and  gag 
him  in  the  most  secure  manner,  when  he  raised  him  in  his  arms 
and  carried  him  far  back  in  the  woods. 

"I  will  leave  yon  here  while  I  go  and  summon  the  gang," 
said  Moore,  in  an  aggravating  tone,  and  a  moment  after  he 
added: 

"If  I  find  you  are  a  square  man  I  will  release  you  before 
morning." 

Had  not  the  man  been  gagged  he  would  have  called  down 
curses  on  the  head  of  his  captor. 

The  latter  mounted  the  horse  of  Number  Twenty-two,  and  rode 
away  towards  the  great  midnight  rendezvous. 

In  a  narrative  everything  runs  along  smoothly,  and,  as  we 
are  supposed  to  relate  incidents  that  have  occurred  in  the  past, 
readers  hardly  realise  the  actual  perils  certain  characters  pass 
through. 

It  was  about  as  perilous  an  undertaking  as  any  man  ever 
risked,  when  Macon  Moore  essayed  to  enter  the  camp  of  the 
night-riders  in  the  Valley  of  Death. 

The  detective  was  riding  along,  and  was  within  two  miles  of 
the  rendezvous,  when  suddenly  four  men  emerged  from  a  side 
road  and  four  carbines  were  presented  at  his  head. 

Moore  was  not  alarmed,  nor  did  he  betray  the  slightest  trepi 
dation. 

"  Who  are  you,  and  where  are  you  going?"  came  the  chal 
lenge. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  Valley  of  Death." 

"Traitor!  we  have  you  cornered  at  last,"  came  the  startling 
response. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  77 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

MACON  MOOBB  WINS  BY  COOLNESS. 

The  moment  had  arrived  for  the  detective  to  show  his  nerve. 
When  challenged  with  the  declaration,  "Hold,  traitor,  we  have 
you  cornered  at  last!"  he  replied,  coolly: 

"  If  you  chaps  don't  lower  your  guns,  I'll  make  something  of 
you  more  quiet  than  traitors." 

"•Give  the  countersign,  and  down  go  the  guns." 

"Well,  if  Colonel  Yeuui  can't  place  livelier  chaps  on  guard 
than  four  lunks  like  you,  he  had  better  come  and  stand  on  the 
road  himself." 

"Will  you  give  the  pass-word?" 

"No,  I  won't!" 

The  men  gazed  into  each  other's  faces.  They  did  not  know 
what  to  do  under  the  circumstances.  They  were  not  regular 
soldiers,  but  marauders,  and  did  not  understand  a  man's  refus 
ing  the  countersign  point-blank. 

The  detective  leaned  over  the  side  of  his  horse,  and,  laughing 
in  a  merry  manner,  asked: 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

One  of  the  men  answered,  frankly: 

"  I'll  be  dog-hanged  if  I  know!" 

"  Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"Just  ride  along  with  me  to  the  rendezvous,  and  don't  make 
fools  of  yourselves." 

The  four  men  were  young  chaps,  and  very  inexperienced  in 
their  business. 

The  detective  had  noted  this  fact  on  the  instant  when  chal 
lenged,  and  at  once  determined  to  take  advantage  of  the  situa 
tion  in  order  to  make  his  little  adventure  in  the  Valley  of  Death 
less  perilous. 

The  five  men  rode  along  toward  the  rendezvous,  when  one  of 
the  four  who  had  challenged  our  hero,  asked: 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?" 

"  Number  Twenty-two?" 

"And  your  name?" 

"Selph  Tracy." 

"By  thunder!  Tracy,  you  had  a  narrow  squeak  for  your  life 
awhile  back. " 

"How's  that?" 

"I  had  a  dead  bead  on. you,  and  was  most  inclined  to  pull." 

"You're  green  hands,  I  reckon." 

"What  makes  you  say  that?" 


78  MACOX  MOOKE, 

"  You  challenged  ine  like  a  lot  of  lunks." 

"What  should  we  have  done?" 

"Closed  in  on  me;  taken  my  gun  away;  pulled  my  teeth;  left 
me  no  chance  to  bite  back,  and  then  challenged  me." 

"That's  so,"  said  one  of  the  men,  who  wanted  to  convey  the 
idea  that  he  was  smarter  than  his  companions. 

"If  I  had  been  Macon  Moore,"  said  the  detective,  without  a 
quaver  in  his  voice,  "I  would  have  had  you  all  dumped  from 
your  saddles  in  about  three  seconds." 

The  men  could  not  exactly  see  how  the  feat  named  could  have 
been  accomplished,  but  appeared  to  believe  that  it  was  true, 
nevertheless. 

Experienced  men  have  learned  that  assurance  and  absolute 
positiveness  will  impress  men  of  little  experience  so  that  they 
will  believe  almost  anything. 

The  detective's  tactics  at  the  trying  and  perilous  moment  had 
been  based  upon  this  idea,  and  he  succeeded  in  the  most  won 
derful  manner. 

A  moment  later  he  carried  his  audacity  a  step  further,  by  say 
ing,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  manner: 

"Don't  you  fellows  mention  the  manner  in  which  we  met,  and 
ril  never  give  you  away;  because  I  don't  think  it  does  any  good 
to  turn  the  laugh  on  young  men  before  they  have  had  a  chance  to 
pick  up  the  points." 

"We  won't  say  anything  about  it,  you  bet!"  was  the  response. 

Macon  Moore  chuckled  to  himself  at  the  manner  he  had  pulled 
the  wool  over  the  eyes  of  those  tyro  night  riders. 

The  men  soon  arrived  at  the  entrance  to  the  narrow  gulch  that 
led  to  the  Valley  of  Death.  They  were  halted,  and  there  came  a 
demand  for  the  countersign. 

The  detective  had  cunningly  fallen  back  to  the  rear.  He  did 
not  have  the  countersign  for  the  night,  although  he  had  the 
general  recognition  signal  words. 

The  man  in  advance  gave  the  countersign,  as  did  the  others  as 
they  followed,  including  the  daring  detective,  who  had  taken  it 
when  delivered  by  the  first  man. 

The  real  peril  was  at  hand. 

Colonel  Yenui  was  disposed  to  closely  scrutinize  every  man. 

The  detective  had  fooled  him  so  often  that  he  was  prepared  to 
be  suspicious  of  his  own  father. 

The  men  soon  emerged  from  the  rock-lined  passage  into  the 
valley. 

The  detective  saw  a  line  of  horses  tethered  after  the  manner  of 
cavalrymen,  and  with  the  fcvur  "lunks"  he  rode  over,  dis 
mounted,  and  tethered  his  own  horse. 

The  men  were  scattered  around-  in  groups,  presenting  weird 
figures  under  the  glare  of  the  torches. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  79 

All  hands  were  masked. 

The  latter  fact  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  the  man  who 
had  faced  death  by  entering  in  their  midst. 

It  was  not  midnight,  and  our  hero  mingled  with  a  group  of 
men,  and  heard  his  own  exploits  discussed  in  the  usual  inan- 
nei\ 

Those  men,  who  had  never  encountered  him,  boasted  as  to 
how  they  would  dispose  of  him  in  case  they  should  ever  run 
across  him;  and  the  detective  smiled  behind  his  mask  at  the 
various  horrible  disposals  that  were  to  be  made  of  him. 

At  length  the  hour  of  midnight  drew  near,  and  the  men 
gathered  before  a  natural  sort  of  rostrum,  upon  which  stood 
Colonel  Yenni,  Arteaga,  and  a  number  of  other  men  who  were 
leaders. 

The  first  event  in  order  was  the  roll-call. 

The  latter  custom  was  performed -in  a  peculiar  manner.  The 
man  who  acted  as  secretary  called  out  the  men's  numbers  at 
random,  and  the  men  answering  to  their  numbers,  responded  by 
repeating  their  names,  with  the  usual  "Here!" 

The  numbers  went  to  a  hundred,  and,  singularly  enough, 
Number  Twenty-two  was  the  last  number  called,  and  our  hero 
responded,  in  a  firm  voice: 

"Selph  Tracy,  here!" 

Colonel  Yenni  called  out,  upon  hearing  the  last  response: 

"I  want  to  have  a  few  words  with  Number  Twenty-two  when 
the  business  of  the  meeting  is  over." 

Number  Twenty -two  responded,  "All  right!"  but  Macon  Moore 
resolved  that  the  little  private  conference  should  not  take 
place.  I 

Our  hero  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Selph  Tracy  had  been 
absent  on  some  private  business,  and  as  the  detective  was  not 
acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the  business,  he  felt  that  he  would 
be  unable  to  furnish  any  information. 

Colonel  Yenni  opened  the  meeting  by  making  some  startling 
statements. 

In  the  first  place  he  stated  the  enormous  amount  of  business 
that  had  been  done  in  the  illicit  traffic,  and  the  number  of  men 
employed.  He  also  stated  the  number  of  government  agents 
that  liaA  been  put  out  of  the  wai/,  showing  that  the  shadow  of  the 
gallows  overhung  every  man  who  had  been  engaged  in  the  trade. 
The  colonel  concluded  his  speech  by  showing  the  personal 
interest  every  man  present  had  in  the  death  of  Macon  Moore. 

The  whole  purport  of  the  harangue  was  directed  towards  the 
point  named. 


SO  MACON  MOORE, 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

THE  DETECTIVE  IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  DEATH. 

Every  time  the  name  of  the  great  detective  was  mentioned,  it 
was  received  with  curses  and  execrations. 

"Our  'stills,'"  said  the  colonel,  "have  been  lying  idle  for 
nearly  two  weeks;  and  why?  {Simply  because  that  man  is  above 
ground  in  our  midst." 

The  men  knew  that  the  government  had  decided  upon  firm 
and  aggressive  measures  for  the  extirpation  of  the  moonshiners; 
they  knew,  furthermore,  that  they  could  combat  all  measures 
save  one,  and  that  was  the  establishing  of  the  personal  identity 
of  the  men  engaged  in  the  unlawful  trade. 

It  was  to  the  leaders  that  this  last  peril  more  particularly  pre 
sented  itself,  but  they  cunningly  made  it  appear  that  the  same 
peril  menaced  every  man  who  had  ever  worked  in  a  distillery,  or 
who  had  ever  worn  a  mask  for  the  riding  down  of  a  government 
agent. 

During  the  course  of  the  meeting  our  hero  learned  a  startling 
fact. 

Admissions  were  made  showing  that  a  number  of  the  govern 
ment  agents  supposed  to  be  dead  were  still  alive,  held  as  prison 
ers  in  some  secret  place. 

The  way  in  which  the  latter  fact  came  out  was  a  proposition 
to  put  these  men  to  death  in  cold  blood  on  the  old  piratical 
theory  that  "  dead  men  tell  no  tales." 

It  was  actually  put  to  vote  as  to  what  disposition  should  bo 
made  of  the  prisoners;  and,  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  it 
was  decided  that  they  should  be  slaughtered  in  cold  blood — lit 
erally  murdered! 

The  detective's  heart  stood  still  with  horror  and  amazement. 
To  him  it  was  the  most  atrocious  proposition  he  had  ever  heard 
of  in  all  his  life. 

Not  in  the  history  of  the  world  had  he  read  of  an  act  more 
cruel  and  merciless;  and  at  that  moment  he  decided  that  alone 
and  unaided,  were  his  life  spared,  he  would  save  the  lives  of  the 
doomed  men. 

It  was  decided  that  the  murderers  should  be  drawn  by  lot. 

All  the  numbers  representing  the  riders  wr-ro  placed  in  a  hat, 
and  Macon  Moore  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart  prayed  that  Num 
ber  Twenty-tiro  might  be  drawn  from  that  hat  as  one  of  the  ten 
•who  were  to  do  the  merciless  deed  of  blood. 

Nine  numbers  were  called,  and  only  one  more  was  to  be  drawn 
from  the  hat. 


THE  SOUTHEKN  DETECTIVE.  81 

The  detective  listened  with  distended  ears  and  palpitating 
heart. 

Could  any  of  those  men  standing  near  him  have  seen  the  face 
hidden  by  his  mask,  they  would  have  known  for  a  surety  that  an 
enemy  was  in  their  midst. 

The  last  number  was  drawn,  and  it  was  not  Number  Twenty-two; 
our  hero  was  not  among  the  fated  ten  who  were  to  do  the  deed 
of  blood. 

When  the  matter  concerning  the  prisoners  was  decided,  the 
real  object  of  the  meeting  was  disclosed. 

Colonel  Yenni  called  for  volunteers — fifty  men — who  would 
pledge  themselves  to  neither  eat  nor  sleep  until  the  famous  de 
tective  went  down. 

It  is  necessary  for  our  readers  to  know  that  many  of  the  men 
gathered  there  had  important  business  interests. 

The  night  riders  were  not  a  common  gang  of  marauders,  but 
were  men  belonging  to  the  secret  brotherhood,  holding  them 
selves  in  readiness  to  be  called  upon  at  any  moment. 

Sometimes  the  riders  were  not  called  together  for  months,  and 
only  when  some  peril  threatened  the  interests  of  some  of  their 
number. 

They  pretended  to  be  banded  together  merely  for  mutual  pro 
tection,  while  itnder  their  leaders  they  were  led  to  make  war 
upon  the  law  officers  who  were  seeking  to  break  up  the  illicit 
traffic. 

The  whisky  business  had  many  ramifications,  and  numerous 
men  were  only  indirectly  connected  with  the  trade,  and  yet  all 
these  had  been  drawn  into  the  association  for  mutual  defense  of 
the  illicit  trade. 

There  was  not  a  ready  response  to  the  call  for  volunteers. 
There  were  men  among  them  who  would  have  willingly  offered 
their  services  for  a  day  or  two,  but  when  it  came  to  making  a 
business  of  hunting  down  a  man  like  the  great  Southern  detec 
tive,  it  was  another  matter. 

At  length  one  man  volunteered,  and  another,  and  another,  until 
ten  men  had  signified  their  willingness  to  join  in  the  great  man 
hunt. 

At  the  .last  moment  Arteaga  came  forward  and  offered  a  reward 
of  twenty  thousand  dollars  for  the  capture  or  assassination  of 
Macon  Moore. 

The  result  was  that  forty  men  at  length  volunteered  to  under 
take  the  job. 

Number  T'renty-two  was  not  among  the  number. 

The  detective  had  other  business  on  hand.  He  was  studying 
the  identity  and  personality  of  the  ten  men  who  were  to  murder 
the  prisoners. 

Little  did  those  men  dream  that  at  the  verv  moment  the  famous 


82  MAGON  MOORE, 

detective  was  in  their  midst,  and  like  a  "  cbiel  amang  them  takin' 
notes." 

They  were  destined  to  learn  the  truth,  however,  very  shortly 
after  the  adjournment  of  the  meeting.  The  ten  men  who  were 
to  slaughter  the  prisoners  had  been  called  up,  and  were  holding 
a  little  quiet  consultation  among  themselves. 

M;u:on  Moore  was  lying  close  to  them,  and  learned  that  they 
had  decided  to  carry  out  their  fiendish  duty  that  very  night. 

The  meeting  closed  with  a  calling  off  of  the  numbers  of  the 
men,  or  rather  the  roll-call  was  repeated. 

Number  Twenty-two  answered  to  his  name,  and  coolly  walked 
off  with  a  number  of  men  to  mount  his  horse,  without  waiting  to 
hold  his  little  talk  with  Colonel  Yenni. 

The  colonel,  however,  was  not  disposed  to  let  his  man  off  so 
easily,  but  called  out  for  Number  Twenty-two. 

It  was  a  critical  moment. 

Discovery  and  death  stared  the  self-devoted  man  in  the  face. 

In  an  instant,  however,  his  resolution  was  taken. 

It  was  just  as  certain  discovery  to  shirk  off  as  it  was  to  take 
the  chance  of  meeting  Yenni,  and  he  walked  over  to  the  arch 
fiend  of  the  riders. 

The  colonel  whispered  in  his  ear: 

•'  Come  to  my  house  to-morrow  alone." 

"  At  what  hour?" 

"Eight  in  the  evening." 

It  had  been  a  narrow  squeak;  the  daring  man  had  got  off  in 
the  most  fortunate  manner,  and  he  congratulated  himself  upon 
the  decision  that  had  prevented  him  from  attempting  to  sneak 


The  men  rode  through  the  gulch  in  straggling  parties. 

Our  hero  had  overheard  one  of  the  ten  men  say: 

"  I  have  no  stomach  for  this  job." 

Macon  Moore  kept  close  to  that  man;  he  had  a  purpose  in 
view.  He  \viis  preparing  for  another  of  his  wondrous  feats  of 
coolness  and  daring. 

The  party  were  riding  along  in  the  darkness,  our  hero  directly 
the  man  he  had  been  watching.  He  had  the  man's  num 
ber  and  name,  and,  as  stated,  was  riding  close  behind  him. 

The  moment  the  party  issued  from  the  gulch  the  detective 

threw  himself  forward  over  his  horse's  quarters  and  pricked  the 

flank  of  Number  Nine's  horse.     The  animal  was  a  fiery,  spirited 

and  began  to  plunge  and  rear,  and  finally,  with  a  furious 

snort,  dartad  away  through  the  darkness  at  a  tremendous  gallop. 


THE  SOUTHERN   DKTl-XTIVE.  s:5 

CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

PREPARING   FOR  ANOTHER   GREAT  FEAT. 

The  detective  urged  his  own  horse  forward  in  pursuit. 

None  of  the  other  men  paid  much  attention  to  the  galloping 
steeds,  as  it  was  not  an  unusual  incident  for  horses  to  take  to 
rearing  and  plunging  at  night. 

Number  Nine  at  length,  Avhen  fully  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  of 
his  comrades,  managed  to  bring  his  horse  down  to  a  steady  gait, 
and  our  liero  rode  up  beside  him. 

The  two  men  entered  into  conversation,  and  Moore  speedily 
learned  that  Number  Nine  was  a  nervous,  apprehensive  sort  of 
man. 

He  was  a  young  lawyer,  whose  senior  partner  was  the  legal 
adviser  of  several  of  the  whisky  firms.  The  senior,  not  wishing 
to  join  the  riders,  but  feeling  bound  to  recognize  the  organiza 
tion  in  some  way,  as  a  matter  of  business,  had  induced  his  junior 
to  join  them. 

Randall  Bader  was  an  honorable  youth,  of  German  descent, 
and  his  whole  nature  recoiled  at  the  horrid  duty  assigned  him  to 
edrform. 

The  detective  managed  to  worm  all  these  facts  from  the  youth 
without  seeming  to  be  seeking  the  information. 

"  I  wish  I  were  in  your  place,"  said  Moore. 

"  How  in  my  place?" 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  drawn  as  one  of  the  ten  men  appointed  to 
execute  those  infernal  government  agents!" 

"I  don't  see  how  any  man  could  desire  such  an  assignment." 

"  I  have  a  personal  vengeance  to  work  out,  and  I  would  have 
considered  myself  very  lucky  if  I  had  been  drawn!" 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  in  my  place!" 

"I  wish  I  had." 

"I  wonder,"  asked  Randall  Bader,  "if  a  man  could  send  a 
substitute,  and  not  break  a  rule  of  the  organization?" 

"  It  could  be  managed  without  regard  to  any  rule." 

"How?" 

"  You^nd  I  could  exchange  numbers  for  the  night." 

"Would  you  really  like  to  go  in  my  place?" 

"I  would." 

"  It  might  be  discovered  that  wo  had  made  the  exchange  of 
numbers!" 

"  It  cannot  be  discovered  unless  you  betray  yourself." 

"What  is  vour  number?" 


"  And  mine  is  Number  Nine!" 


84  MACON  MOO  UK. 

"It  is  night;  you  and  I  are  about  the  same  build;  we  could 
change  clothes  and  horses,  and  no  one  will  ever  know  in  the 
darkness  that  such  an  exchange  has  been  made." 

"  How  could  the  exchange  be  made  back  again?" 

"  I  would  meet  you  at  daylight  at  any  place  you  might  name, 
and  we  cau  change  back  identities." 

"  Can  I  depend  upon  you?"  • 

"  If  living,  as  God  is  my  witness,  I  will  be  on  hand!" 

"  But  suppose  some  discovery  should  be  made,  will  you  exon 
erate  me?" 

"  On  my  word  as  a  man  and  a  Christian!" 

"You  will  swear,  under  any  circumstances,  to  meet  me  and 
exchange  back,  and  not  leave  me  in  the  lurch?" 

"  I  will  exonerate  you  in  the  face  of  death  itself!" 

Little  did  the  detective  dream,  when  he  made  this  promise, 
under  what  circumstances  of  peril  he  would  be  called  upon  to 
redeem  his  word. 

"  I  will  make  the  exchange,"  said  Randall  Bader;  and  the  in 
experienced  youth  little  dreamed  of  the  peril  that  his  act  was  to 
bring  down  upon  him. 

The  two  men  turned  aside  into  a  bridle-path,  and  the  change 
of  attire  was  quickly  made,  as  also  an  exchange  of  horses,  and  a 
few  moments  later  Number  Twenty-two  rode  out  into  the  road 
metamorphosed  into  Number  Nine. 

"Remember!"  said  our  hero,  "  until  we  meet  again,  whenever 
challenged  you  must  respond  as  Number  Twenty-two." 

"I  will  remember." 

"Of  course  all  challenging  will  be  over  by  daylight,  and  con 
sequently  no  discovery  can  be  made;  you  are  Selph  Tracy,  Num 
ber  Twenty-two,  I  am  Randall  Bader,  Number  Nine!" 

"I  am  mighty  glad  to  escape  the  duty  assigned  me!" 

"You  are  at  liberty  to  ride  off  to  your  home;  Twenty-two  has 
no  assignment  for  to-night,  and  in  the  morning  we  will  meet  as 
agreed." 

"  All  right,"  was  the  response,  and  the  new  Number  Twenty- 
two  darted  along  towards  the  main  road. 

Macon  Moore  held  his  horse  at  the  rein,  and  waited  for  the 
balance  of  his  party  to  come  along. 

He  waited  but  a  few  seconds,  when  he  was  joined  by  the  other 
nine  riders,  and  one  of  them  said: 

"Bader,  your  horse  is  rather  mettlesome  to-night?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Bader;  and  it  would  have  taken  a  keen  ob 
server  to  have  noticed  any  difference  between  the  voices  of  the 
real  and  the  false  Bader. 

The  party  soon  turned  from  the  road  they  had  been  following 
and  took  a  bridle-path  leading  up  the  mountains. 

Conversation  proceeded  with  the  men,  but  no  allusion  was 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  85 

made  to  the  bloody  work  in  hand;  their  whole  attention  was 
paid  to  a  discussion  of  the  probable  fate  of  Macon  Moore. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  the  party  stopped  at 
a  mountain  tavern  for  refreshments. 

The  landlord  was  hustled  out  of  bed  to  serve  them;  then  the 
party  remounted  and  rode  on  for  half  an  hour,  when  they  came 
to  an  old  stone  building  situated  in  the  very  midst  of  a  group  of 
mountain  peaks. 

It  was  indeed  a  lonely  and  deserted  place,  and  a  dozen  mur 
ders  could  have  been  perpetrated  by  a  stronger  party  against  a 
weaker  one,  without  any  fear  of  interruption  or  subsequent  dis 
covery. 

The  party  halted  before  this  stone  building,  and  one  of  them 
said: 

"Here  are  our  prisoners  confined!" 

"  How  shall  we  dispose  of  them?"asked  one. 

"  Let's  bring  them  out  one  at  a  time  and  hang  them." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  still  another,  "that  will  take  too  much 
time!" 

"  Well,  what  do  you  suggest?" 

"  The  men  are  chained?" 

"Yes." 

' '  Let's  draw  lots  who  among  us  shall  go  in  and  blow  out  the 
doomed  men's  brains." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  the  bodies?" 

"  Let  them  lay  there  and  rot  until  judgment  day!" 

The  detective  was  silent,  taking  no  part  in  this  fearful  discus 
sion. 

The  men  talked  as  coolly  as  though  discussing  the  slaughter 
of  so  many  wild  animals. 

At  length  it  was  decided  that  they  should  draw  lots,  and  that 
two  of  their  number  should  be  selected  to  enter  the  building, 
and  deliberately  blow  out  the  brains  of  the  helpless  prisoners. 

The  numbers  of  the  men  were  tossed  into  a  hat,  and  as  luck 
would  have  it  Number  Nine  was  the  first  number  drawn. 

"  They're  saved!"  was  the  mental  ejaculation  of  our  hero. 

The  second  number  was  drawn  and  proved  to  be  the  man  who 
had  ma<J0  the  suggestion  as  to  the  disposal  of  the  prisoners  that 
had  been  accepted. 

The  leader  of  the  men  handed  over  a  key,  and  Number  Six 
. -,  »  «" 

said: 

"  Come  along,  Nine,  we  will  get  through  this  little  business  as 
quick  as  possible!" 


80  MACON  MOORE, 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

OUK  HEKO  IN  HIS  GKEATEST  HOLE. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  the  two  men  stepped  into  a  dark, 
damp  sort  of  place. 

The  eight  men  remained  outside,  laughing  and  joking  in  seem 
ing  carelessness,  but  our  hero  observed  that  there  was  a  ner 
vousness  about  their  pretended  bravado. 

Number  Six  appeared  to  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  old 
store  building  pretty  well,  and  when  once  inside  he  closed  the 
door,  with  the  brutal  remark: 

"We'll  have  all  the  fun  to  ourselves." 

The  brute  produced  a  light,  taking  a  lantern  down  from  a 
ledge,  the  latter  a  part  of  the  foundation  of  the  building. 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  this?"  asked  Number  Nine. 

"It  used  to  be  a  sort  of  half-handled  still,  but  has  fallen  into 
disuse,  as  the  building  is  too  far  away." 

The  man  led  the  way  up  a  rickety  pair  of  stairs,  and  finally 
swung  his  lantern  aloft,  illuminating  an  apartment  on  the  se 
cond  floor. 

A  strange  and  awful  sight  met  our  hero's  gaze. 

Three  men  were  chained  to  a  staple  fixed  on  the  solid  stone 
wall  of  the  building.  The  prisoners  were  handcuffed,  and  had 
their  feet  bound  at  the  ankles. 

They  had  evidently  been  properly  fed.  The  cruelty  of  starva 
tion  had  not  been  practiced  upon  them. 

They  were  three  stern,  resolute-looking  men,  displaying  their 
garneness  even  as  they  lay  chained  and  bound  like  so  many  help 
less  subjects  for  slaughter. 

Macon  Moore  felt  a  strange  thrill  go  through  his  heart,  and 
his  hands  worked  convulsively,  while  at  the  same  time  he  felt  so 
thankful  that  a  kind  fate  had  guided  him  to  the  rescue  of  these 
brave  men. 

Number  Six  was  a  brutal  fellow,  and,  in  a  harsh  voice,  he  said: 

"  Heh,  you  fellows  have  just  got  about  thirty  seconds  to  say 
your  prayers.  We're  going  to  blow  your  miserable  brains 
out." 

One  of  the  men  answered : 

"Get  to  work,  cowards!     We  ask  no  mercy  at  your  hands." 

"You're  a  gamy  man,  Selton  Reeves,  and  if  you  hadn't 
taken  to  sneaking  for  the  government  you  would  never  have 
come  to  this  pass." 

Macon  Moore  could  hardly  believe  his  own  ears. 

Selton  Reeves  was  a  man  known  throughout  the  whole  South- 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.          87 

west.  He  had  been  a  colonel  in  the  Confederate  service,  and  had 
been  known  as  a  man  of  the  most  dashing  courage. 

For  over  a  year  it  had  been  supposed  that  Selton  Reeves  \vas 
dead.  In  fact,  the  whole  details  of  the  scrimmage  in  which  he 
had  been  supposed  to  have  lost  his  life  had  been  furnished  to  the 
public. 

The  gentleman's  reappearance  among  his  fellow-men  •would 
have  been  like  one  coming  from  the  grave. 

Beeves  made  no  reply  to  the  remarks  of  Number  Six,  while  the 
latter  repeated : 

"  It's  our  order  to  quiet  you  fellows!  I've  no  stomach  for  the 
job  of  shooting  a  man  in  cold  blood;  but  it's  the  mandate  of  the 
Order  of  Riders,  and  you've  only  got  thirty  seconds!" 

"I  don't  ask  one!" 

Number  Six  turned  to  our  hero  and  said : 

"Just  commence,  will  you?  Selton  Reeves  used  to  be  a  friend 
of  mine,  and  I'd  rather  you'd  settle  him." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  shoot  that  man  in  cold  blood?" 

"It's  the  orders,  and  it  was  your  luck  and  my  luck  to  be 
drawn  for  the  duty,  and  we  can't  shirk  it." 

"  You're  Number  Six;  I'm  Number  Nine;  you  come  before  me; 
you  commence/" 

A  look  of  fiendishness  gleamed  in  the  eyes  of  the  rider  as  he 
advanced  and  placed  his  cocked  revolver  against  the  temple  of 
Selton  Reeves.  At  the  same  moment  a  most  extraordinary  coun 
ter-move  was  made. 

Macon  Moore  accomplished  another  of  his  wonderous  feats. 

As  Number  Six  clapped  the  cold  muzzle  of  his  revolver  against 
the  prisoner's  temple,  he  felt  something  pressed  close  to  his  own 
ear,  and  a  voice  called: 

"  Hold!     Pull,  and  you  are  a  dead  man!" 

The  critical  moment  had  arrived.  Moore  had  unmasked  and 
held  a  cocked  revolver  against  the  rider's  head. 

'•By  all  the  powers  of  hell!  "What  do  you  mean?"  asked  tho 
man,  stepping  back  and  turning  pale. 

The  rider  had  removed  his  mask  as  he  pressed  his  pistol 
against  the  temple  of  Selton  Reeves. 

Subsequent  developments  explained  that  the  man  had  a  per- 
sonal*grudge  against  Reeves,  and  at  the  moment  took  a  devil's 
delight  in  permitting  the  doomed  man  to  recognize  his  execu 
tioner. 

When  the  pistol  was  pressed  to  his  own  head,  Number  Six 
•withdrew  his  weapon  from  the  temple  of  the  prisoner.  He 
would  have  raised  his  weapon  for  a  counter  level  against  Nine, 
but  the  latter  said,  in  a  meaning  tone: 

"Don't  raise  your  hands!" 

In  that  region  a  gentle  hint  not  to  raise  one's  hand  was  fraught 


88  MACON  MOORE, 

with  great  meaning.     It  meant:  If  you  do  raise  your  hands,  you 
are  a  dead  man. 

'  What  does  this  mean?"  again  queried  Number  Six. 
'Would  you  murder  these  men  in  cold  blood?" 
'  It's  the  order." 

'  They  shall  not  be  murdered  in  cold  blood!" 
'  Why  did  you  come  on  this  duty  if  you  were  going  to  shirk?" 
'  That's  my  business." 

Six  made  a  movement  toward  the  stairway. 
'  Where  are  you  going?"  came  the  demand. 
'  Down-stairs." 
'Stand!" 
'Who  are  you?" 
The  detective  laughed. 

An  awful  pallor  overspread  the  face  of  the  rider,  and  from  his 
blue  and  trembling  lips  came  the  words: 

"  My  God!    It's  Macon  Moore,  the  scourge!" 
The   detective  had  held   his   pistol  in  his  left  hand,  and  as 
though  the  act  were  done  unconsciously,  he  let  the  armed  hand 
fall  to  his  side. 

Number  Six  saw  the  momentary  off-guard,  and  raised  his  own 
weapon  quick  as  a  flash. 

A  report  came,  but  it  was  not  the  rider's  pistol  that  exploded. 
Macon  Moore  had  played  another  trick,  had  accomplished 
another  wondrous  feat.  The  dropping  of  the  left  hand  had  been 
a  ruse;  in  his  right  hand  he  held  a  concealed  cocked  pistol  at  a 
covered  level,  and  the  detective's  gun  went  off  first,  bringing 
Number  Six  to  the  ground. 

The  rider  lay  motionless  after  a  few  moments'  writhings. 
Macon  Moore  advanced  to  Selton  Beeves,  and  whispered: 
"You're  saved!" 
"Who  are  you?" 

"I  am  Macon  Moore!"  and  the  detective  proceeded  to  free  the 
doomed  men. 

Upon  his  person  he  carried  a  key  to  the  hand-cuffs,  and  he 
knew  of  a  method  of  his  own  for  breaking  the  chain  that  held 
the  bands  upon  the  prisoners'  feet. 

Ten  minutes  from  the  moment  Number  Nine  and  Number  Six 
had  entered  the  room  where  the  prisoners  were  chained,  the  lat 
ter,  instead  of  being  slaughtered,  were  freed  by  the  hands  of  the 
famous  Southern  detective. 


THE  SOUTHEKN  DETECTIVE.  89 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"I     AM     MACON     MOOKE." 

The  thoughtful  man  had  come  fully  prepared  for  the  work  at 
hand. 

Liniment  was  furnished  to  the  freed  prisoners  wherewith  to 
bathe  their  limbs,  and  as  they  had  been  well  fed  while  confined, 
in  a  few  moments  they  were  almost  as  good  as  new. 

The  arms  were  taken  from  Number  Six,  and  furnished  to  Sel- 
ton  Beeves;  and  the  other  two  prisoners  were  armed  from  an 
extra  supply  of  weapons  that  had  been  purposely  carried  by  our 
hero. 

In  a  few  brief  words  the  detective  explained  the  situation. 

There  were  eight  men  without — all  well-armed,  desperate 
men. 

"  Only  two  to  one!"  said  Selton  Eeeves,  in  the  tone  of  a  brave 
man. 

"You  would  propose  that  we  go  out  and  make  it  a  scrim 
mage?" 

'Yes." 

'  No,  no!    I  have  another  idea." 

'You  would  not  think  of  escaping  without  a  fight?" 

'  You  rather  seek  one,  I  think,"  retorted  Moore. 

'I  do;  I  have  suffered  at  the  hands  of  those  rascals,  and  do 
you  know,"  continued  Selton  Eeeves,  "that  most  of  them  are 
professional  cut-throats,  gathered  from  all  quarters  of  the 
globe?" 

"I  do  not  care  who  they  are,  nor  where  they  come  from;  I've 
a  plan  to  serve  them  out. " 

"What  is  yotir  plan?" 

' '  We  will  capture  them  and  make  them  prisoners  in  your 
stead. " 

"A  good  idea!" 

"We  will  carry  it  out  at  once." 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  voice  calling  up-stairs: 

"What  is  the  matter  up  there?  We  have  only  heard  one  shot, 
and  there  are  three  prisoners." 

"  It's  all  right!"  answered  Number  Nine. 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  other  two?" 

Macon  Mooro  extinguished  the  light  and  called  back: 

"  Three  or  four  of  you  come  up  here;  we  want  you!" 

The  dotoctive  had  arranged  his  plans,  and  an  instant  later  he 
heard  the  tramp  of  men  on  the  stiurs. 

Four  of  the  riders  were  allowed  to  pass  up.     As  they  ascended 


90  MACON  MOORE. 

the  stairs  the  detective  had  taken  hold  of  each,  and  had  whis- 
pered: 

"  Step  this  way,  and  don't  make  any  noise;  there's  something 
extraordinary  on  hand." 

Men  suddenly  thrust  into  a  dark  room  become  momentarily 
da/v'd,  and  the  detective  was  taking  advantage  of  this  fact  in 
dealing  with  the  entrapped  riders. 

He  had  passed  each  of  the  men  over  into  the  hands  of  one  of 
the  released  prisoners;  and  the  next  remark  that  fell  upon  the 
fooled  rider's  ear,  after  the  little  introductory  caution  of  the  de 
tective,  was: 

"  Don't  move  or  speak,  or  you  are  a  dead  man  /" 

The  caution  in  each  instance  was  emphasized  by  the  pressure 
of  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  against  the  cheek  of  the  wanied. 

The  men  thus  entrapped  did  not  dare  make  the  least  sign.  It 
was  too  critical  a  moment  for  experimenting. 

The  last  man  was  greeted  by  our  hero  with  the  warning: 

"  Don't  move  or  speak,  or  you  are  a  dead  man!" 

The  released  prisoners  were  all  detectives,  or  men  who  had 
been  used  to  making  arrests  as  United  States  marshals. 

The  arrest  part  of  the  situation  was  not  a  novel  one  to  them, 
and  the  four  riders  were  handcuffed  each  in  turn  before  they  had 
time  to  fully  realize  their  peril. 

Having  secured  the  four  men,  the  capturing  party,  acting 
under  our  hero's  instructions,  just  "laid  low." 

Some  ten  minutes  passed,  when  again  an  inquiry  came  from 
below  stairs: 

"  What  in  thunder  is  going  on  up  there?" 

"  Oh!  we'll  be  down  in  a  minute,"  called  back  the  detective. 

"  But  what's  going  on?" 

"  Come  lip,  if  you  want  to  see  the  fun." 

The  fifth  man  came  up-stairs,  and  in  a  few  seconds  wras 
securely  handcuffed. 

He  did  not  have  a  chance  to  see  the  fun,  as  it  was  in  the  dark 
ness  that  the  joke  was  carried  out;  but  the  fun  went  on  all  the 
samee,  as  the  Chinaman  said. 

But  a  few  moments  passed  when  the  sixth  man  came  to  in 
quire  what  was  going  on,  and  he  wanted  to  know  why  all  was  so 
quiet  up  there. 

"Come  up  and  see,"  was  the  invitation  that  was  voiced  down 
to  him. 

The  last  man  to  make  the  inquiry  was  soon  in  irons,  and  he 
was  compelled  to  take  in  the  joke  without  x''f/i>f/  it. 

Macon  Moore  called  to  Selton  Reeves  and  one  other  man  to 
follow  him  down-stairs. 

The  three  men  stepped  out  under  the  starlight. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  91 

They  found  the  remaining  two  riders  dismounted,  and  impa 
tiently  waiting  to  know  what  was  going  on. 

"Haven't  you  heard  the  news?"  asked  the  detective. 

"What  news?" 

"  The  latest  news." 

"What  is  the  latest  news?''  demanded  the  men,  in  astonish 
ment. 

"  Macon  Moore  has  been  up-stairs!" 

"And  the  prisoners  have  been  released?" 

"Yes." 

"  When  did  this  happen?"  ejaculated  the  men,  in  greater  as 
tonishment. 

"  Just  now,  not  five  minutes  ago!" 

"What  in  thunder  do  you  mean?"  and  as  the  man  spoke  he 
made  an  attempt  to  draw  his  weapon. 

It  is  the  custom  down  where  the  scenes  of  which  we  write  oc 
curred,  to  "  pull  "  on  the  slightest  provocation. 
'Don't  get  your  shooter  out!" 
'Where  is  Macon  Moore?" 
'Right  here!" 
'Where?" 

'  /  am  Macon  Moore,  Johnny!  and  you  will  just  get  your  hands 
up,  gentlemen,  or  you  are  dead  men!"  and  as  the  detective  spoke 
a  little  battery  of  three  six-shooters  was  leveled  at  the  amazed 
and  badly-fooled  riders. 

The  men  offered  no  resistance. 

We  have  had  occasion  to  assert  before,  and  repeat,  there  is 
ofttimes  victory  in  a  name. 

The  mention  of  our  hero's  name  prfralyzed  the  riders. 

They  did  not  understand  how  Macon  Moore  chanced  to  be 
present,  and  yet  there  he  stood. 

The  nine  riders  were  all  placed  in  the  garret,  and  handcuffed 
and  bound  as  the  three  government  agents  had  been,  and  when 
they  had  been  secured  four  mounted  men  rode  away. 

The  prisoners  had  been  supplied  with  horses  from  the  nine 
belonging  to  the  riders. 

The  detective  felt  no  compunction  at  leaving  the  nine  riders, 
as  he^knew  they  would  be  discovered  before  they  starved  to 
death,  and  in  case  they  did  starve,  they  would  be  only  meeting 
the  fate  that  would  have  at  the  time  been  intended  for  the  gov 
ernment  agents. 

At  the  dawn  of  that  same  day  Macon  Moore  was  confronted 
with  the  greatest  dilemma  of  his  life. 


92  MACON  MOORE, 


CHAPTEB  XXVI. 

THE  DETECTIVE    BKOUGHT   TO   BAY. 

Our  hero  was  a  man  of  his  word.  He  had  promised  to  meet 
Randall  Bader  at  daylight  and  exchange  back  disguises  with  him. 
At  the  time  of  making  the  promise  he  little  dreamed  of  the1  p.  Til 
the  transaction  had  brought  upon  the  young  man  who  had  be 
come  his  accomplice. 

It  was  the  gray  of  the  morning,  while  riding  along  with  the 
released  prisoners,  that  a  recollection  of  his  promise  came  to 
him,  and  he  bade  his  friends  good-by  after  arranging  to  meet 
them  at  a  certain  point  later  in  the  day. 

The  detective  proceeded  along  until  he  came  near  to  the  tryst- 
ing  place  where  he  was  to  meet  Bader,  when  he  dismounted  from 
his  horse  and  reconnoitered  the  ground. 

Macon  Moore  was  a  man  who  had  made  it  a  rule  to  be  always 
on  his  guard.  He  argued  that  a  man  in  his  business  was  never 
safe,  and  never  accepted  any  state  of  facts  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Upon  the  occasion  in  question  the  wisdom  of  his  rule  was  ex 
emplified. 

He 'saw  Randall  Bader  standing  beside  his  horse,  at  the  ap 
pointed  place,  and  it  would  appear  that  all  was  right,  and  most 
men  would  have  advanced  at  once,  throwing  all  caution  aside. 

Our  hero,  however,  did  not  do  business  that  way.  He  thought 
he  would  watch  brother  Bader  a  bit,  and  learn  whether  or  not 
during  the  interim  the  young  man  had  become  a  party  to  any 
other  scheme. 

As  above  stated,  the  wisdom  of  his  precaution  was  almost  im 
mediately  verified. 

The  man  he  saw  wore  the  clothes  that  had  been  transferred; 
he  was  standing  beside  the  same  horse  he  had  ridden  away  on  a 
f<nv  hours  previously;  but  after  all,  the  moment  the  detective 
studied  the  man  closely,  he  came  to  a  singular  conclusion  that  all 
was  not  just  right. 

The  man  was  just  a  little  taller  than  Bader,  and  the  disguise 
clothes  did  not  fit  him  as  well. 

Our  readers  must  remember  that  it  is  a  detective's  habitual 
practice  to  study  all  these  little  points,  in  fact,  professional 
"  slmdowers"  get  so  accustomed  to  note  little  and  seeming  im 
material  points,  that  their  lives  become  a  constant  study,  and 
their  minds  become  a  sort  of  living  camera,  imaging  upon  their 
memories  every  thing  that  comes  under  their  observation. 

Macon  Moore  satisfied  himself  beyond  any  peradventure  that 
it  was  not  Randall  Bader  who  was  awaiting  him  at  the  appointed 


THE  SOUTHEEN  DETECTIVE.  93 

trysting  place,  and  if  it  was  not  Bader  there  was  a  trap  set  for 
him. 

The  detective  muttered  to  himself,  "  I  am  too  old  a  mouse  to 
run  into  that  trap!" 

Now  the  question  arose,  had  Bader  proved  false,  or  had  the 
poor  fellow  himself  fallen  into  the  same  trap? 

Our  hero  concluded  that  the  latter  was  the  real  fact.  He  had 
left  Selph  Tracy  in  such  a  position  that  he  would  be  discovered 
when  daylight  dawned,  and  as  things  turned  out,  there  was  a 
possibility  that  the  man  had  been  discovered  and  released  earlier. 
If  the  latter  were  the  fact  he  had  most  probably  met  some  of 
his  compeers,  and  had  related  his  experience.  If  such  had  been 
the  case,  the  chances  were  that  poor  Bader  had  been  found  with 
Tracy's  horse  answering  to  Number  Twenty-two. 

Supposing  our  hero's  theory  to  be  correct,  it  was  as  pretty  a 
case  of  circumstantial  evidence  as  ever  environed  an  innocent  man. 

To  save  the  delay  of  a  more  extended  explanation,  and  to  avoid 
breaking  the  direct  course  of  our  story,  we  will  say  that  the 
detective  had  struck  upon  the  true  facts  of  the  case. 

Within  two  hours  after  the  departure  of  Macon  Moore  from 
the  spot  where  he  had  left  Tracy  bound  and  gagged,  the  latter 
had  been  scented  by  a  dog.  The  animal's  master  was  attracted 
to  the  spot,  and  the  bound  and  gagged  man  had  been  released. 

Tracy,  the  moment  he  was  released,  realized  the  necessity  of 
riding  to  the  Valley  of  Death  as  speedily  as  possible  in  order  to 
notify  his  comrades,  and  procuring  a  horse  he  galloped  away  at 
a  life-and-death  gait. 

As  fortune  would  have  it,  the  first  man  he  met  was  Randall 
Bader. 

The  meeting  took  place  less  than  an  hour  after  the  change  had 
been  made  between  our  hero  and  the  young  law  clerk. 

Tracy  was  galloping  along  over  the  road  under  the  starlight, 
when  he  came  upon  a  horseman.  The  latter  was  a  night  rider, 
and  Selph  Tracy  came  to  a  halt  and  challenged. 

"Number  Twenty-two, "  answered  Bader,  promptly,  but  in  a 
tremulous  voice. 

"Dumber  Twenty-two,  Selph  Tracy,"  demanded  the  real  Num 
ber  Twenty-two. 

"  Selph  Tracy!"  came  the  answer. 

Had  Bader  been  a  more  experienced  man,  he  would  have 
known  from  the  challenger's  tone  that  something  was  wrong, 
but  lacking  experience  he  followed  instructions,  and  the  result 
was  that  the  challenger  suddenly  drew  a  bead  on  him  and  ex 
claimed: 

"  Throw  up  your  hands  or  you  are  a  (load  man!" 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Bader. 

"  Up  with  your  hands  or  die!" 


04  MACON  MOORE, 

Bader  was  not  at  heart  a  coward,  but  any  man's  ordinary 
courage  weakens  when  sailing  under  false  colors. 

Bader  was  sailing  under  falsa  colors,  and  when  too  late  dis 
covered  that  something  was  wrong  and  that  he  was  in  a  bad 
scrap  •. 

The  penalty  for  treachery  among  the  riders  was  terrible,  and 
retribution  came  swift  and  sure. 

A  man  accused  had  but  little  chance  for  life,  unless  his  de 
fense  was  forthcoming  in  a  hurry. 

Randall  Bader  knew  all  this;  he  had  seen  a  man  accused, 
tried,  and  executed,  all  in  the  space  of  twenty  minutes. 

The  moment  he  was  challenged  he  knew  that  in  some  way  he 
had  been  played  as  a  dupe,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  in  a  terri 
ble  scrape. 

Death  in  its  most  ghastly  form  stared  him  in  the  face. 

It  was  too  late  for  him  to  show  fight  in  order  to  save  himself. 
His  challenger  had  him  "dead  to  rights/' as  the  expression 
stands,  and  up  went  his  hands. 

At  that  moment  a  number  of  horsemen  drew  near. 

Selph  Tracy  awaited  their  approach,  and  kept  Bader  in  the 
humiliating  posture  of  uplifted  hands. 

The  masked  men,  coming  in  view,  saw  the  position  of  affairs 
ahead  and  halted. 

Selph  Tracy  challenged  the  three  men,  and  all  responded  and 
challenged  in  turn. 

"Number  Twenty -two,"  called  Selph  Tracy,  and  Bader  heard 
the  number  he  had  falsely  given  uttered  by  his  challenger. 

The  three  men  who  had  approached  proved  to  be  Col.  Yenni, 
Arteaga,  and  a  desperate  fellow  named  Rogers. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this?"  asked  Colonel  Yenni,  after 
the  challenges  had  been  answered. 

"I  have  a  traitor  'burrowed!'"  came  the  answer,  "  or  else 
there  are  two  Twenty-two's  and  two  Selph  Tracys!" 

"Heavens!"  was  the  ejaculation  that. fell  from  Yenni's  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

NUMBER     NINE'S     PERIL. 

Bader  was  in  an  awful  predicament.  Even  if  he  confessed  the 
truth .  he  stood  convicted,  on  his  own  evidence,  as  having  shirked 
a  duty. 

He  knew  that  his  doom  was  sealed. 

Selph  Tracy  related  his  adventure  after  starting  for  the  Valley 
of  Death,  and  when  his  story  was  concluded,  amid  the  curses  of 
Yenni  and  Arteaga,  the  former  exclaimed:  . 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  95 

"  We  have  been  spied  right  in  the  midst  of  our  secret  meet 
ing!" 

"Did  Twenty-two  answer  to  the  roll-call?"  asked  Tracy. 

"Yes." 

"Then,  by  all  that's  sacred,  you  speak  truly,  for  I  am  Tracy! 
Twenty-two  is  my  number,  and  I  was  not  present  at  the  meeting 
in  the  Valley  of  Death!" 

Colonel  Yenni  called  to  the  man  Rogers  to  unmask  Bader. 

"  It's  unnecessary,"  said  Bader,  and  he  pulled  the  mask  from 
his  own  face. 

Colonel  Yenni  uttered  an  exclamation  of  amazement.  He 
recognized  Bader,  and  would  have  suspected  any  other  man 
among  the  whole  band. 

In  a  stern  tone  he  demanded: 

"  Did  vou  answer  to  a  challenge  as  Number  Twenty-two?" 

"I  did"." 

"  What  have  you  to  say?" 

Bader  hesitated.  To  tell  the  real  truth  was  death,  and  he  was 
not  ready  with  an  excuse  that  would  serve  to  exonerate  him. 

"  Were  you  at  the  Valley  of  Death  this  night?" 

"I  was." 

"Did  you  answer  to  the  roll-call  as  Number  Twenty-two?" 

"No." 

"  Who  did?" 

"I  cannot  tell." 

"  Young  man,  do  you  know  that  you  must  offer  a  satisfactory 
explanation,  or  you  are  a  dead  man  within  an  hour?" 

"  I  fim  an  innocent  man." 

"Who  answered  to  the  roll-call?" 

"  I  repeat,  I  do  not  know." 

"  And  yet  you  claim  to  be  an  innocent  man?" 

"I  am  innocent  of  any  crime  of  treachery  against  our  associa 
tion." 

"  Then  explain  why  you  are  in  disguise?" 

"That  is  the  horse  that  was  taken  from  me,"  interrupted 
Tracy. 

"  I  laave  been  duped  by  the  same  man  that  assailed  Tracy," 
said  Bador. 

"  Will  you  tell  how  you  were  duped?" 

Bader  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  affair,  and  related 
just  what  had  occurred. 

Colonel  Yenni  believed  the  young  man's  story. 

It  was  self-evident  that  Bader  would  not  have  been  compelled 
to  resort  to  any  expedient  to  gain  admission  to  the  meeting  of 
the  riders. 

The  colonel,  however,  did  not  consider  it  expedient  to  let  the 


96  MACON  MOORE, 

young  man  know  that  he  believed  his  tale,  strange  and  startling 
as  it  was. 

"  You  were  to  meet  the  man  who  took  your  place  at  daylight?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"  At  the  road  running  by  the  scarred  oaks." 

Colonel  Yenni  was  satisfied  in  his  own  mind  that  the  wonder 
ful  man — the  devil  incarnate,  as  he  called  Macon  Moore — had 
been  in  the  camp  at  the  Valley  of  Death  as  Number  Twenty -two. 

Curses  fell  from  his  lips  as  he  remembered  the  mission  of  the 
committee  of  ten.  Macon  Moore  was  on  that  committee,  and 
the  chances  were  that  instead  of  being  murdered,  silenced  as 
dead  men,  they  were  at  the  moment  free  men. 

He  drew  from  his  belt  a  revolver,  and  aimed  it  at  the  head  of 
Bader,  and  exclaimed: 

"  Miserable  wretch!  you  do  not  deserve  a  trial." 

He  would  have  fired,  and  young  Bader's  career  would  have 
been  closed  forever  on  this  earth,  then  and  there,  had  not  Arte- 
aga  interfered. 

"  Hold!  do  not  shoot  him!"  cried  the  Spaniard,  as  he  clasped 
the  colonel's  arm. 

"  The  traitor  has  imperiled  all  our  necks!"  shouted  the  colonel. 

"  But,  after  all,  his  treachery  may  be  of  service  to  us!"  ex 
claimed  the  man,  Rogers. 

"  How?"  demanded  Yenni  in  an  impatient  tone. 

"  He  was  to  meet  Moore  to  exchange  back  disguises." 

"Well?" 

"We  can  capture  the  fiend  in  his  own  trap!" 

"  How?" 

"  I  will  go  to  meet  him  instead  of  Bader." 

"Do  you  think  the  cunning  Macon  Moore  will  keep  that 
appointment?" 

Turning  to  Bader,  Rogers  asked: 

"  Did  Moore  positively  promise  to  meet  you?" 

"  On  his  honor  as  a  man,  if  alive  he  was  to  meet  me!" 

"Macon  Moore  never  breaks  his  word!"  said  Rogers. 

Then  Colonel  Yenni  knew  that  the  great  detective  was  the  soul 
of  honor,  and  when  it  appeared  possible  that  the  whole  affair 
might  result  in  the  capture  of  the  scourge,  his  anger  was  some 
what  mollified,  and  he  said: 

"The  capture  of  Moore  will  save  your  life.  If  he  is  not  cap 
tured  you  die!  You  shall  be  burned  at  the  stake  in  the  Valley 
of  Death!" 

Bador's  blood  ran  cold. 

He  knew  that  the  chances  of  Macon  Moore's  capture  were  very 
slight;  and  he  knew  also  that  the  vengeance  of  the  riders  would 
be  swift  and  sure. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  97 

The  party  were  joined  by  several  other  riders,  to  whom  the 
state  of  affairs  was  told.  The  men  at  once  declared  that  Bader 
was  in  the  conspiracy  with  Moore,  and  demanded  his  instant 
death. 

Colonel  Yenni  remonstrated,  but  the  men  were  furious. 

Two  of  their  number  had  been  dispatched  to  ascertain  the  fate 
of  the  nine  men  who  had  ridden  along  with  Macon  Moore. 

The  colonel  told  the  others  who  remained  with  him  that  Ba- 
der  should  not  escape. 

The  men  demanded  that  he  should  be  put  under  their  charge. 

Against  this  Arteaga  protested;  both  the  Spaniard  and  Yenni 
knew,  were  the  young  man  intrusted  to  them,  they  would  kill 
him  in  less  than  five  minutes. 

It  was  just  before  daybreak  that  a  messenger  returned  to  the 
appointed  place,  and  told  what  had  befallen  the  committee  of 
ten. 

Bader  had  been  placed  under  the  charge  of  two  men,  who 
were  sworn  to  protect  him  until  such  time  as  an  investigation 
could  be  made. 

When  Yenni  learned  of  the  great  feat  that  had  been  performed 
by  the  detective,  his  rage  knew  no  bounds,  and  he  almost  regret 
ted  that  he  had  not  permitted  the  riders  to  lynch  Bader  at 
once. 

The  nine  men  had  been  released,  but,  alas!  the  scourge  was 
free  to  work  more  mischief;  and  besides  he  carried  with  him  the 
knowledge  of  all  that  had  occurred  at  the  meeting  in  the  Valley 
of  Death. 

But  one  hope  remained;  the  wonderful  man  after  all  might 
still  be  caught  in  his  own  trap. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ANOTHER  NEW  DISGUISE. 

The  situation  was  as  above  narrated  at  the  moment  our  hero 
came  upon  the  man  Rogers,  who  was  lying  in  wait  for  him. 

The'detective  did  not  know  the  true  facts,  but  he  suspected 
concerning  just  what  had  occurred. 

Again  Macon  Moore's  wondrous  shrewdness  was  displayed. 
Had  Rogers  been  alone,  he  would  have  gone  right  forward  and 
have  met  him,  but  he  observed  that  the  man  cast  furtive  glances 
occasionally  in  a  certain  direction,  and  was  assured  that  a  large 
number  of  men  were  lying  in  amlmsh. 

Necessity  did  not  demand  that  he  should  bring  on  a  fight  with 
a  large  number  of  men,  and  it  is  a  fact  that  really  brave  men, 
those  who  will  fight  gallantly  when  a  combat  is  once  com 
menced,  are  never  the  ones  to  precipitate  a  quarrel. 


98  MACON  MOORE, 

Our  hero,  however,  was  confronted  by  one  serious  probability. 
There  was  a  chance  that  Bader  might  at  that  very  moment  be  in 
great  peril.  Moore  had  promised  that  no  harm  should  come  to 
him,  and,  as  Rogers  had  said  to  Colonel  Yenni,  the  detective 
was  a  man  who  would  never  fail  in  a  promise. 

(Something  must  be  done;  a  sure  understanding  of  the  facts 
must  be  obtained. 

There  was  a  mountain  hamlet  about  two  miles  from  where  the 
meeting  with  Bader  was  to  have  taken  place,  and  our  hero  knew 
that  a  number  of  riders  dwelt  there,  and  were  idle  chaps  who 
would  most  likely  haunt  the  tavern. 

It  was  a  risky  undertaking,  but  a  necessary  one,  and  he  deter 
mined  to  venture  to  the  hamlet  and  learn  what  he  could  pick  up 
iu  the  way  of  information. 

The  peril  of  his  scheme  was  heightened  from  the  fact  that 
since  his  advent  into  the  region  all  strangers  were  looked  upon 
with  great  suspicion. 

Murou  Moore's  light,  lithe  form  and  delicate  features  enabled 
him  to  successfully  assume  a  role  that  few  men. could  undertake. 
He  had  always  preserved  his  secret  in  this  respect,  and  though 
he  had  of  ten"  assumed  the  role,  he  had  never  declared  himself 
while  acting  under  this  special  disguise,  and  consequently  no 
one  had  ever  "trailed"  him  in  this  particular  transformation 
trick. 

Our  hero  also  always  carried,  concealed  upon  his  person,  certain 
necessary  articles  to  aid  him  in  assuming  a  disguise  on  an  emer 
gency. 

Within  the  hour  from  the  time  he  had  come  upon  Rogers,  on 
the  "lay"  for  him,  he  was  working  out  another  of  his  great 
feats. 

A  country  girl  strolled  through  the  hamlet  alluded  to  above, 
and  as  it  was  not  an  unusual  thing  for  a  girl  to  be  seen  in  the 
village,  but  little  attention  was  attracted  by  her  appearance. 

The  people  of  the  hamlet  were  greatly  excited  at  the  time  over 
a  terrible  tragic  discovery. 

The  body  of  a  well-dressed  man  had  been  found,  just  at  day 
light,  lying  in  the  road. 

There  was  no  question  but  that  the  man  had  been  the  victim 
of  a  foul  murder. 

There  were  many  good  people  residing  in  the  district  where 
the  events  occurred  that  we  have  undertaken  to  detail,  and  the 
latter  were  not  in  sympathy  with  the  law-breakers,  and  lived  in 
perfect  terror  of  them. 

Society  was  in  a  bad  way.  Neighbor  suspected  neighbor,  and 
no  man  know,  save  those  who  were  actually  members  of  the 
gang,  at  what  moment  his  life  might  be  in  peril. 

A  great  crowd  had  assembled  around  the  tavern  porch,  on  the 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  00 

floor  of  which  the  body  of  the  murdered  man  lay.     Good  peo 
ple  stood  aghast,  but  did  not  dare  to  express  themselves. 

The  country  girl,  with  bare  head  and  frowzy  hair,  elbowed  her 
way  through  the  crowd  and  gazed  with  distended  eyes  at  the 
ghastly  signt. 

A  number  of  men  were  gathered  in  a  group  near  the  body, 
and,  strangely  enough,  the  girl,  after  gazing  a  moment  at  the 
corpse,  appeared  to  take  most  interest  in  the  group  of  men. 

A  strange  legend  was  being  whispered  around. 

The  story  had  got  abroad  that  the  dead  man  was  a  famous  de 
tective;  in  fact,  there  were  those  who  tremblingly  mentioned  the 
name  of  Macon  Moore,  the  great  Southern  detective,  as  the  vic 
tim  of  the  murder. 

The  country  girl  stood  there  amid  the  excited  throng,  looking 
as  simple  and  apathetic  as  a  simpleton. 

She  heard  the  allusion  to  the  detective,  and  not  the  slightest 
change  came  over  the  expression  upon  her  face. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  break  in  the  crowd.  A  horseman  dashed 
up  to  the  tavern.  The  rider  was  not  masked,  and  bore  the  ap 
pearance  of  an  ordinary  country  traveler. 

The  country  girl  had  been  watching  three  men  particularly. 
We  say  watching  them,  but  will  so  modify  the  statement  as  to 
say,  had  been  gazing  at  them  in  a  listless  manner. 

The  three  men  were  talking  very  earnestly  together  at  the 
moment  the  horseman  galloped  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd  of 
villagers. 

The  man  dismounted,  and  advancing  beside  the  corpse,  leaned 
over  and  gazed  steadily  a  moment  at  the  dead  features. 

A  moment  later  another  horseman  came  galloping  amid  the 
crowd. 

The  last  comer  also  dismounted,  and  advancing,  made  a  close 
examination  of  the  features  of  the  dead  man. 

At  length  the  last  arrival  turned  and  walked  away.  He  was 
followed  an  instant  later  by  the  other  horseman,  and  the  three 
men  who  had  been  standing  and  whispering  together. 

The*  five  men  walked  round  to  the  stable  and  entered,  and 
strangely  enough  the  simple-looking  country  girl  sauntered  off 
in  'the  same  direction. 

The  men,  upon  entering  the  great  barn,  pretended  to  be  exam 
ining  a  new  wagon  that  was  there,  but  in  a  moment  the  true 
motive  of  their  withdrawal  to  the  barn  was  disclosed. 

One  of  the  men,  addressing  the  last  arrival,  said: 
You  have  seen  Moore?" 
'Yes." 

'  Is  that  the  body  of  the  scourge?" 
:No." 
You  are  sure?" 


100  MACON  MOORE, 

"lam";  and  the  man  described  tlie  personal  appearance  of 
the  detective  quite  accurately. 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  concerning  the  rumor  that  Bader 
has  got  into  a  scrape?"  asked  another  of  the  men. 

"  Bader  will  be  tried  and  executed  to-night!" 

"What  is  his  crime?" 

The  man  related  all  the  circumstances  already  known  to  our 
readers. 

"By  the  eternal!"  cried  the  man,  "but  this  Macon  Moore  is 
truly  a  terrible  scourge!" 

"  The  chances  are  that  he  will  be  laid  out  to-day." 

"How  so?" 

The  man  related  how  Rogers  was  on  the  lay  for  him  at  the 
trysting-place. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

PICKING   UP  THE  POINTS. 

At  the  momen  the  conversation  above  related  was  in  progress, 
the  country  girl,  strangely  enough,  was  leaning  against  the  barn 
wall,  very  convenient  to  a  gaping  knot-hole;  and  she  must  have 
been  very  deaf  if  she  did  not  overhear  every  word  that  passed 
between  the  men  inside. 

"Bader  is  but  a  boy,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "and  it  is  a  pity 
to  kill  the  poor  fellow!" 

"  Colonel  Yenni  says  it  is  a  question  of  example  and  discipline." 

"I  do  not  believe  the  young  man  meant  to  be  a  traitor." 

"Yenni  does  not  believe  he  meant  to  be  a  traitor,  but  an  ex 
ample  must  be  made  of  him." 

The  country  girl  walked  away  from  the  barn  and  wandered 
out  of  town,  passing  along  the  road  until  she  came  to  a  path  that 
led  to  a  clump  of  dense  woods. 

A  horse  was  tethered  to  a  sapling,  and  the  girl  proceeded  di 
rectly  to  where  the  animal  stood. 

In  a  moment  a  most  wonderful  metamorphose  took  place;  the 
garb  of  a  country  girl  disappeared,  and  a  man  appeared  upon 
the  scene  as  though  conjured  by  some  magic  spell. 

Macon  Moore,  under  the  disguise  as  the  country  girl,  had 
"piped"  the  whole  story  of  Randall  Bader's  peril. 

A  strange  light  gleamed  in  his  eyes  as  his  thoughts  reverted  to 
the  murdered  man  whose  body  lay  upon  the  tavern  porch. 

He  well  knew  that  the  unfortunate  stranger  had  fallen  a  victim 
to  the  cruel  order  of  Colonel  Yenni  for  the  riders  to  kill  any  man 
whom  they  mot  who  Avas  a  stranger  in  the  district. 

"By  all  that's  sacred!"   exclaimed  the  detective,  "I'll  trace 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  101 

down  every  man  who  has  a  blood-stain  on  his  soul,  or  I  will 
myself  become  a  victim  of  the  assassins!" 

The  detective  had  changed  himself  from  a  girl  in  appearance 
to  an  ordinary  young  country  farm  hand. 

As  he  mounted  his  horse  he  muttered: 

"I  reckon  I'll  pay  a  visit  to  Colonel  Yenni,  and  secure  his 
interest  in  behalf  of  young  Bader." 

It  was  evident  that  the  detective  had  an  important  movement 
under  consideration. 

He  had  pledged  his  word  to  Bader,  and  he  was  about  to  re 
deem  his  promise  or  die. 

Our  hero  rode  out  of  the  woods  and  trotted  along  the  road. 
His  direction  was  toward  the  house  where  Colonel  Yenui  resided. 

In  order  to  reach  the  house  of  the  chief  of  the  night  riders  it 
was  necessary  for  him  to  pass  along  a  road  a  portion  of  which 
was  very  lonely  and  secluded. 

The  detective  had  reached  the  loneliest  part  of  his  route,  and 
was  riding  along  with  head  bowed,  when  he  heard  the  clatter  of 
horses'  feet.  On  the  instant  he  was  on  the  alert.  He  was  as 
liable  to  meet  a  party  of  riders  in  the  daylight  in  that  region  as 
at  night. 

A  moment  later  and  he  was  confronted  by  two  horsemen.  He 
would  have  ridden  bv,  but  the  men  ordered  him  to  come  to  a 
halt. 

They  were  unmasked,  and  a  pair  of  as  brutal-looking  custom 
ers  as  he  had  ever  met. 

"Who  may  you  be,  stranger?"  asked  one  of  the  men. 

"I  do  not  know  as  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  who  I  am." 

"  You  don't  think  yer  bound  to  tell  who  yer  are,  eh?" 

"No." 

"Well,  where  are  yer  going?" 

"I  am  on  my  way  to  the  house  of  Colonel  Yenni." 

"Yer  going  to  call  on  Colonel  Yenni?" 

"lam." 

The  man  passed  the  challenge  of  the  riders,  but  our  hero 
made  ifo  response. 

"'Again,  stranger,  I  feel  bound  to  ask  your  name." 

"And  I  feel  bound  to  refuse  to  give  my  name." 

The  two  men  whispered  a  moment,  after  which  one  of  them 
said: 

"Just  get  down  off  yer  horse  a  minute,  stranger!" 

"  Why  shall  I  dismount?" 

"  Because  I  tell  yer  to,  that's  why!" 

"  I  believe  you  are  a  pair  of  villains!" 

"Yer  do,  eh?" 

"I  do." 


102  MACON  MOORE, 

"Well,  just  stick  to  yer  opinion;  but  dismount,  all  the  same, 
if  yer  please." 

"  I'll  not  dismount." 

"  Yer  won't?" 

"No." 

The  man  drew  an  ugly -looking  pistol  from  his  pocket,  and  in 
a  true  bravado  style  said : 

"I  reckon  yer  had  better  get  down,  stranger." 

The  two  men  had  halted  in  advance  of  our  hero.  They  held 
him  at  a  cover  on  either  side. 

"Are  you  highwaymen?"  asked  Moore. 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  you  who  or  what  we  are;  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  get  down!" 

The  detective  suddenly  buried  his  spurs  in  his  horse's  flanks. 
The  animal  sprang  forward  with  a  snort,  bringing  his  rider  di 
rectly  between  the  two  men  who  had  challenged  him. 

The  detective,  as  his  horse  sprang  forward,  reached  forth  both 
hands,  and  quick  as  lightning  he  dealt  the  two  men  a  blow  with 
the  butts  of  two  heavy  pistols. 

Our  hero  had  appeared  so  innocent  and  inoffensive  that  the 
miscreants  were  not  prepared  for  any  such  sudden  and  decisive 
maneuver. 

The  blow  each  received  was  a  staggerer,  and  before  either  had 
recovered  the  first  blows  were  followed  by  a  succession  of  stag 
gerers.  In  fact,  the  two  men  were  knocked  from  their  saddles 
and  fell  upon  the  road  bleeding  and  insensible. 

With  a  quiet  laugh  our  hero  rode  on,  and  an  hour  later  came 
in  sight  of  Colonel  Yenni's  residence. 

A  great  surprise  was  in  store  for  the  colonel.  He  had  been 
flattering  himself  that  he  had  not  been  identified  as  one  of  the 
riders  and  a  principal  in  the  illicit  traffic. 

Yenni  was  an  assumed  name. 

The  man  was  acting  under  a  mask. 

As  our  hero  turned  through  the  open  gate  and  rode  up  towards 
the  colonel's  residenc,  he  saw  the  man  he  was  seeking  sitting  on 
his  piazza. 

Our  hero  rode  up  and  saluted  the  colonel,  and  at  once  dis 
mounted  and  tethered  his  horse. 

The  colonel  did  not  exhibit  any  trepidation  at  the  appearance 
of  the  stranger,  as  it  was  not  an  unusual  incident  for  a  man 
to  call  upon  him. 

Having  tethered  his  horse  our  hero  ascended  the  piazza 
steps  and  approached  the  colonel,  who  had  not  moved  from  his 
chair. 

A  pallor,  however,  suddenly  overspread  the  colonel's  face  on 
recognizing  blood-spots  on  his  visitor's  clothing. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  103 

Our  hero  had  not  had  an  opportunity  to  wash  off  the  stains 
that  had  smeared  him  in  his  encounter  on  the  road. 

"  Have  you  business  with  me,  sir?"  asked  Colonel  Yenni,  ris 
ing  and  placing  his  hand  in  a  manner  indicative  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  upon  his  guard. 


CHAPTEB  XXX. 

COLONEL  YENNI  KECEIVES  A  VISITOR. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have  business  with  you!"  said  the  detective,  in  a 
quiet  tone. 

"  Name  it,  after  you  have  informed  me  whom  I  have  the  honor 
of  addressing." 

"I  hardly  think  you  would  recognize  me  from  my  name." 

"I  demand  your  name  all  the  same." 

"  You  insist  that  I  shall  tell  my  name?" 

"I  do!" 

"  I  am  Macon  Moore!" 

Colonel  Yenni  was  stricken  speechless  with  amazement.  He 
turned  pale,  and  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

The  colonel,  however,  was  a  gamy  man,  and  in  an  instant  had 
sufficiently  recovered  to  ask: 

"To  what  do  I  owe  a  visit  from  a  man  so  famous?" 

' '  I  believe  you  told  me  last  night  that  you  wished  to  talk 
with  me." 

Colonel  Yenni  could  not  have  been  more  amazed  had  the  sun 
divided  and  the  two  parts  gone  careering  off  in  opposite  di 
rections. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  his  mind.  It  really  had  been  the 
famous  detective  who  had  been  in  the  camp  at  the  Valley  of 
Death.  Macon  Moore  had  been  the  Number  Twenty-two  who  had 
answered  at  the  roll-call. 

Colonel  Yenni  was  not  a  coward,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to 
draw  his  weapon  and  meet  the  detective  face  to  face  and  muzzle 
to  muzzle  then  and  there. 

"  Do/f't  attempt  anything  rash,  colonel, "came  the  cool,  steady 
warning'. 

Colonel  Yenni  determined  to  heed  the  warning  for  the  time 
being,  but  when  worst  came  to  worst,  he  would  fight. 

The  chief  of  the  riders  knew  that  it  was  of  no  vise  to  attempt 
to  wear  a  mask.  He  could  not  throw  dust  in  the  -eyes  of  the 
wonderful  man  who  stood  before  him. 

"  You  say  I  sr>nt  for  yon?" 

"I  said  you  told  me  last  night  that  you  wished  to  see  me." 

The  colonel  determined  to  talk  against  time;  at  any  moment  a 


104  MACON  MOORE, 

number  of  the  riders  might  appear  on  hand,  and  the  peril  might 
be  removed  forever. 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  Mr.  Moore;  I  do  not  know  of  any 
business  I  may  have  with  you." 

"  You  had  business  with  Number  Twenty-tiro,  and  I  may  as  well 
inform  you  that  I  was  Number  Twenty-two  last  night." 

In  an  even  tone  the  colonel  answered : 

"I  do  not  know  as  it  is  necessary  to  enter  into  explanations. 
I  repeat  I  have  no  business  with  Macon  Moore!" 

"Well,  then,  Colonel  Yenni,  I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  I 
have  some  private  business  with  you!" 

It  required  the  utmost  effort  of  the  colonel's  will  to  avoid  be 
traying  his  trepidation. 

"  What  may  your  business  be  with  me?" 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  by  what  right  you  doom  a  man  to  death — 
a  man  who  has  broken  no  law?" 

"  I  have  not  doomed  any  man  to  death." 

"  Is  Randall  Bader  a  free  man?" 

"Randall  Bader  is  a  member  of  an  association  banded  together 
for  mutual  protection;  he  has  broken  some  of  the  rules  of  the 
brotherhood,  and  is  held  for  trial  on  the  charges.  I  have  no 
more  to  do  with  the  matter  than  yourself." 

"You  have  not?" 

"  I  have  not." 

"You  are  not  aware  that  young  Baden  has  been  adjudged  to 
die  unless  some  of  your  band  manage  to  make  a  corpse  of  myself 
before  night?" 

"I  am  not  aware  of  any  such  state  of  facts." 

"  I  am  compelled  to  assume  that  you  are." 

"I  cannot  help  what  you  assume." 

"The  day  will  come  when  you  will." 

"If  you  have  come  here  to  threaten  me,  I  will  be  compelled 
to. resent  your  insolence. " 

"  Don't  attempt  anything  rash,  I  pray  you;  and  now  listen  to 
me.  I  have  business  for  you,  or  I  would  announce  to  you  that 
you  wore  my  prisoner." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you." 

"  And  I  shall  not  bother  you  with  any  explanations;  all  I  have 
got  to  say  to  you  is  that  I  want  you  to  secure  the  immediate  re 
lease  of  Randall  Bader." 

"  I  have  no  power  to  hold  or  release  him." 

"  All  right.  But  mark  my  words,  if  anything  evil  befalls  that 
young  man,  within  twelve  hours  afterv.-avd  yon  will  meet  with 
the  most  excruciating  death  that  over  mortal  man  suffered!" 

"  Sir!"  ejaculated  Colonel  Yenni. 

"You  have  heard  my  words,  and  you  can  well  understand  their 
meaning." 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  105 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  have  no  influence  over  the  fate  of  Randall 
Bader." 

"You  had  better  acquire  that  influence,  colonel,  for  on  that 
young  man's  life  hangs  your  own!" 

The  detective  walked  down  the  piazza  steps  and  proceeded  to 
where  his  horse  was  tethered,  and,  mounting,  he  would  have 
ridden  away  without  another  word,  but  he  was  halted  by  the 
colonel,  who  called  out: 

"  One  moment,  if  yoii  please!" 

The  colonel  had  caught  sight  of  a  number  of  horsemen  wind 
ing  down  a  distant  mountain  road,  and  if  he  could  only  detain 
Macon  Moore  until  their  arrival,  there  might  come  death  to  the 
scourge. 

Matters  had  come  to  such  a  pass  that  Colonel  Yenni  was  pre 
pared  to  take  the  most  desperate  chances. 

As  matters  stood  he  was  a  doomed  man. 

There  was  no  possible  hope  for  him  except  in  the  death  of  the 
scourge;  beside,  circumstances  were  closing  in  on  him,  and 
at  any  moment  he  might  be  brought  face  to  face  with  his  fate. 

He  thought  he  had  a  point  on  our  hero,  but  the  fact  was, 
Macon  Moore  had  also  caught  a  glimpse  of  those  horsemen  wind 
ing  down  the  distant  mountain  road. 

"What  would  you  say,  colonel?" 

"  Will  you  not  remain  and  dine  with  me?" 

The  detective  laughed;  but  he  was  on  his  guard. 

The  colonel  would  have  said  something  more,  but  our  hero  did 
not  feel  that  he  had  any  time  to  spare. 

"  Good-morning,  colonel!"  he  called,  and  putting  spurs  to  his 
horse,  galloped  away. 

Our  hero  had  important  business  in  another  direction,  and  his 
adventures  after  leaving  the  colonel  were  even  more  tragic  and 
exciting  than  any  he  had  yet  encountered. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

» 

A    RIDEK'S    BOASTS. 

Macorf-  Moore  felt  that  he  had  respited  young  Bader.  He 
knew  that  Yenni's  word  was  law,  and  that  an  order  from  him  to 
kill  or  spare  would  be  obeyed. 

Colonel  Yenni  had  a  motive  "to  spare";  there  was  a  shadow 
hanging  over  him  that  would  be  likely  to  incline  him  to  the  side 
of  mercy. 

Macon  Moore  did  not  intend  to  trust  the  young  man's  eventual 
fate,  however,  to  so  slender  a  thread. 

Incidents  might  arise  of  such  extraordinary  a  character  as  to 


106  MACON  MOORE, 

imperil  Bader's  life,  despite  Yenni's  enforced  influence  in  his 
behalf. 

The  sure  effect  of  the  warning  the  chief  of  the  riders  had  re 
ceived  was  indicated  immediately  after  the  detective's  depar 
ture. 

The  party  both  Yenni  and  the  detective  had  seen  riding  down 
the  distant  mountain  road  reached  the  colonel's  house  in  due 
time. 

They  proved  to  be  riders;  in  fact,  the  survivors  of  the  com 
mittee  that  had  been  sent  to  murder  Selton  Reeves  and  the  other 
prisoners. 

Simultaneously  with  the  arrival  of  the  remnant  of  the  mur 
der  committee,  Rogers  and  two  other  riders  reached  the  colonel's 
house. 

Colonel  Yenni  was  reticent  concerning  his  daring  visitor. 

For  worlds  he  would  not  have  had  the  riders  know  that  the 
scourge  had  insolently  visited  him  at  his  own  house,  and  had  rid 
den  away  unharmed,  as  leisurely  as  he  had  arrived. 

The  remnant  of  the  committee  told  the  story  of  their  adven 
tures,  and  Rogers  informed  the  colonel  that  he  had  failed  in 
"laying  out"  the  famous  detective. 

The  colonel  was  well  aware  of  the  latter  fact,  but  pretended 
to  be  very  mad  and  greatly  disappointed,  although  he  was  cun 
ning  enough  to  avail  himself  of  the  position  of  affairs  to  save  his 
own  neck. 

"  You  say  the  scourge  did  not  come  to  keep  his  trysting  with 
Bader?" 

"He  did  not,"  answered  Rogers;  but  he  did  not  state,  also, 
the  fact  that  he  had  discovered  evidences  of  the  detective's 
presence. 

The  fact  was,  that  when  Rogers  had  been  riding  away  he  came 
upon  our  hero's  trail,  and  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  that 
Macon  Moore  had  been  on  hand  to  keep  his  promise,  but  had 
evidently  discovered  the  little  trap  set  for  him,  and  had  sheered 
off  in  time  to  avoid  a  "cage." 

"I  thought  you  said  that  Moore  was  a  man  whx>  would  never 
break  a  promise?" 
'  I  did  say  so." 

'And  yet  he  did  not  keep  his  trysting  with  Bader?" 
'  The  chances  aro  that  he  never  made  such  a  promise." 
'  Bader  says  he  did." 
'  Bader  may-  have  lied !" 

The  colonel  pretended  to  be  lost  in  thought  a  few  moments, 
but  at  length  exclaimed: 

"  I  have  an  idea;  I  do  not  believe  it  would  be  policy  to  exe 
cute  Bader  at  present." 

"That's  my  idea,"  said  Rogers. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  107 

"  We  may  use  the  young  man  as  a  bait  to  capture  Moore." 

"That  was  just  what  I  was  about  to  propose." 

Colonel  Yenni  was  delighted.  He  began  to  feel  the  shadow 
lifting  that  had  rested  over  him. 

"  I  will  issue  a  command  for  him  to  be  held  in  safe  custody." 

"Be  quick  about  it,"  said  Rogers. 

There  was  no  doubt,  under  the  circumstances,  but  the  colonel 
would  be  speedy  enough  in  countermanding  the  death-warrant. 

A  man  was  sent  with  the  countermand,  and  the  chop-fallen 
riders  entered  the  house  to  hold  a  sort  of  inquest  over  their 
many  disappointments. 

A  single  man  had  baffled  and  humiliated  every  one  of  those 
men  assembled  at  the  colonel's  house. 

They  had  all  become  bitter  and  desperate. 

The  owner  of  the  house  opened  the  conversation  with  a  remark 
that  seemingly  expressed  the  sentiments  of  all: 

"That  cursed  detective  has  beaten  us  at  every  point;  he  has 
got  the  laugh  on  every  man  of  us,  and  if  we  cannot  get  him  out 
of  the  way  we  had  better  each  of  us  put  a  bullet  through  our 
own  temples." 

All  hands  echoed  the  colonel's  sentiments,  with  curses,  not 
loud,  but  deep. 

As  previously  stated,  the  majority  of  the  distilleries  were  stand 
ing  idle.  Great  bulks  of  "  mash"  had  gone  to  mold  on  their 
hands,  and  already  thousands  of  dollars  had  been  lost;  and 
one  man,  who  seemed  to  flit  around  like  a  human  broom  of 
destruction,  had  been  the  cause  of  the  whole  disaster. 

Something  must  be  done,  was  the  ruling  cry,  or  ruin  would 
overtake  them;  both  financial  and  moral  ruin  stared  them  all  in 
the  face. 

Rogers  was  the  loudest  talker;  he  boasted  that  the  detective 
•would  have  been  settled  long  previously  had  he  only  shown  up 
at  the  trysting. 

"  Arteaga  has  offered  twenty  thousand  dollars  reward  for  the 
capture  or  death  of  Macon  Moore,"  said  Yenni. 

"  He  has;  and  if  I  ever  come  across  the  man,  I  will  earn  that 
money, "^.aid  Rogers. 

"twill  double  Arteaga's  offer!  I  will  pay  twenty  thousand 
dollars  additional  for  his  capture  and  death." 

"  He  has  got  to  go  down  sooner  or  later;  he  cannot  always 
evade  me,"  said  Rogers. 

The  latter  was  a  man  of  great  stature  and  wonderful  physical 
strength. 

He  was  a  man  born  in  Maine,  of  Irish  parents;  he  did  not  lack 
courage,  and  was  a  terrible  bully. 

All  hands  present  had  great  faith  in  Rogers.     He  was  known 


108  MACON  MOORE, 

to  be  cool  in  emergencies;  he  was  an  adept  with  the  bowie- 
knife,  and  an  expert  pistol-shot. 

Rogers  was  a  full-blooded  deperado,  an  inveterate  gambler, 
and,  to  gratify  his  passion  for  play,  had  become  an  unprincipled 
criminal. 

It  was  decided  that  Bader  should  serve  as  a  bait,  and  that 
Rogers  should  become  the  accredited  executioner  of  the  scourge. 

During  all  the  talk  Colonel  Yenni  never  let  on  that  he  had 
had,  within  the  hour,  a  visit  from  the  detective. 

Rogers  proclaimed  that  he  had  never  seen  Moore,  and  had  not 
the  least  idea  as  to  his  personal  appearance. 

Colonel  Yenni  furnished  an  accurate  description  of  our  hero's 
personal  appearance.  Said  he: 

'•Macon  Moore  is  an  under-sized  man,  slender  in  build,  light 
hair,  gray  eyes,  almost  blue,  handsome  face,  with  features  and 
complexion  like  a  woman." 

"And  this  pretty  little  man  is  raising  all  this  trouble?" 
queried  Rogers. 

"He  may  be  a  pretty  little  man,"  said  Yenni,  "but  he  pos 
sesses  the  strength  of  a  giant,  is  as  quick  as  lightning  in  his 
movements,  possesses  nerves  of  steel,  and  a  heart  like  a  lion.  - 
Little  and  pretty  as  he  is,  he  is  the  most  terrible  man  to  encoun 
ter  above  ground  in  the  Southern  States  to-day." 

"You  can  all  make  up  your  minds  that  the  forty  thousand 
dollars  will  be  my  money,  if  Macon  Moore  and  Mike  Rogers  ever 
come  face  to  face  and  eye  to  eye. 

As  Rogers  was  supposed  to  possess  to  a  certain  extent  all  the 
qualities  credited  to  the  great  detective,  the  "  Mooners "  had 
hopes  that  the  man  was  not  making  a  vain  boast. 

"  If  you  get  away  with  Macon  Moore,  you  are  the  best  man 
on  top  of  the  earth  to-day!"  said  one  of  them. 

"If  I  ever  set  my  eyes  on  him  he's  my  meat,  you  may  make 
up  your  mind!" 

' '  I  hope  you  may  set  eyes  on  him  ere  the  setting  of  yonder 
sun!"  was  the  response. 

"  It  will  not  be  my  fault  if  I  do  not;  and  between  you  and  me 
it  was  not  half  an  hour  apro  that  I  thought  I  did  have  him!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

LEADING     FOR     A     TRAIL. 


The  party  supposed  that  Rogers  alluded  to  the  meeting  that 
was  to  have"  taken  place  at  the  point  where  the  tryst  with  Bader 
had  been  appointed,  but  Rogers  an  instant  later  said: 

"When  I  was  on  my  way  here,  beyond  there  at  the  meeting 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  lot) 

of  the  four  roads,  I  met  a  man  whom  at  first  I  thought  might  be 
the  scourge,  as  you  call  him." 

"  What  sort  of  a  looking  man  did  you  meet?" 

Rogers  described  the  man  he  had  met  upon  the  road,  when 
Colonel  Yenni  exclaimed: 

"  So  sure  as  you  are  a  living  man  it  was  Macon  Moore  whom 
you  met!" 

Roger's  face  fell. 

"  By  my  own  good  nature  then  have  I  let  the  man  escape!"  he 
exclaimed;  and  he  told  how  he  had  met  a  horseman,  who  in  the 
most  innocent  manner  had  made  inquiries  concerning  his  route. 
"Upon  my  word,"  he  added,  "I  thought  of  all  men  in  the 
world  the  detective  knew  every  foot  of  ground  hereabouts,  and 
never  dreamed  that  so  innocent  a  looking  chap  was  the  man  who 
has  been  raising  the  devil  round  here;  but  since  you  describe 
him  I  know  it  was  him." 

"  The  man  is  not  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half's  ride  ahead  of 
you;  why  don't  you  men  try  and  overtake  him?" 

"  I'll  be  on  his  trail  this  minute!"  cried  Rogers,  and  followed 
by  the  other  riders,  he  rushed  forth,  and  mounting  his  horse, 
galloped  away. 

Colonel  Yenni  did  not  accompany  the  men,  but  in  his  heart 
hoped  that  they  might  overtake  him,  and  down  him  forever. 

In  the  meantime  the  great  detective  had  kept  upon  his  way. 
His  destination  was  the  residence  of  Arteaga. 

Macon  Moore  had  regretted  the  urgent  business  that  had  at 
tracted  him  away  from  the  solution  of  the  mystery  attending  the 
fate  of  Lucy  Bridges. 

He  feared  for  her  a  more  terrible  fate  than  death. 

He  was  assured  in  his  own  mind  that  he  held  Arteaga's  secret; 
and  were  his  surmises  correct,  the  girl  was  in  greater  peril  than 
if  menaced  by  a  thousand  deaths. 

Our  hero  also  entertained  a  suspicion  that  Lucy  was  concealed 
somewhere  in  the  Spaniard's  house,  and  at  any  moment  it  might 
prove  that  a  rescue  had  come  too  late. 

It  was  a  twenty -five  mile  ride  from  the  residence  of  Colonel 
Yenni  to  the  splendid  home  of  the  Spaniard;  and  it  was  toward 
sundown,  when  our  hero  picketed  his  tired  horse  in  the  woods 
near»the  house  where  the  gii'l  was  a  possible  prisoner. 

The  detective  had  refreshed  both  himself  and  his  horse  at  a 
tavern  back  on  the  road,  and  was  prepared  for  a  whole  night  of 
adventures. 

As  matters  were  shaping,  the  chances  were  in  favor  of  a  very 
lively  series  of  adventures. 

As  our  readers  will  remember,  old  Mr.  Bridges  had  been  left 
to  watch  the  Spaniard's  house. 

The  detective  had  arranged  with  the  old  clergyman  where  he 


110  MACOX  MOORE, 

was  to  meet  him,  and,  after  tetbering  his  horse,  he  proceeded  to 
the  trysting-ground. 

The  clergyman  was  not  on  hand.  Macon  Moore  wandered 
around  in  every  direction,  and  at  different  parts  uttered  the 
warning  signal  that  had  been  arranged  between  them.  No  an 
swer  came.  Proceeding  toward  the  house,  a  most  startling  dis 
covery  was  made. 

The  Spaniard's  house  was  closed.  It  was  evident  that  a  hegira 
had  taken  place,  or  a  trick  was  being  played. 

Night  was  coming  apace,  and  under  cover  of  the  deepening 
shadows  the  detective  stepped  out  from  his  covert  and  advanced 
close  to  the  house.  ^ 

Not  a  sign  of  life  around  could  he  discover. 

The  Spaniard's  residence  was  always  kept  closed,  but  there 
was  an  air  about  the  place  proving  desertion. 

The  detective  was  perplexed.  He  did  not  know  at  the  mo 
ment  which  way  to  turn. 

At  length  he  determined  to  force  an  entrance  into  the  house, 
and  make  a  thorough  search. 

One  thing  he  could  do,  and  that  was  satisfy  himself  that  the 
girl  still  lived,  and  had  been  a  prisoner. 

It  was  a  simple  matter  for  our  hero  to  gain  an  entrance,  and  it 
was  but  a  few  moments  ere  he  was  in  the  house. 

He  was  on  his  guard;  there  was  a  chance  that  some  trick  was 
being  played;  that  some  trap  had  been  set  for  him. 

Arteaga  knew  that  Macon  Moore  would  most  likely  return  to 
his  house,  and  the  Spaniard's  plans  demanded  the  detective's 
death. 

The  latter  possessed  a  secret  which,  if  exposed,  would  ruin 
Arteaga  both  socially  and  financially. 

Again  the  Spaniard  was  engaged  in  a  certain  villainous  in 
trigue,  and  had  reason  to  suspect  that  the  scourge  was  piping 
him  on  that  "lay"  also. 

Our  hero  believed  that  a  "flitting  "  had  taken  place,  from  the 
f»ct  that  the  watcher  he  had  detailed  was  missing;  still,  as 
stated  above,  there  was  a  chance  that  a  trap  had  been  set  for 
him. 

He  had  forced  an  entrance  through  a  rear  window,  and  found 
himself  in  total  darkness  when  within  the  house. 

Drawing  his  masked  lantern,  the  detective  flashed  its  sharp 
ray  of  light  around;  nothing  met  his  gaze  indicating  the 
presence  of  any  one,  and  he  slowly  ascended  to  the  second 
floor. 

As  our  readers  will  remember,  ho  had  been  interrupted  at  the 
time  of  his  previous  visit,  when  seeking  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
that  scream  he  had  hoard  emanating  from  a  female. 

A  visit  was  paid   to  every  room   on  the   second  floor,   and 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  Ill 

nothing  fell  under  his  observation  tending  to  a  solution  of  the 
mystery. 

The  house  was  but  two  stories  in  height,  but  as  there  was  a 
slanting  roof  it  would  appear  that  there  must  be  an  attic  apart 
ment. 

It  was  just  at  this  point  that  the  searcher  was  baffled.  He 
could  not  find  any  stairway  leading  to  an  upper  apartment. 

A  less  shrewd  and  cunning  man  would  have  concluded  that 
the  attic  rooms  had  been  omitted  when  the  house  was  built. 
Macon  Moore,  however,  did  not  feel  satisfied  to  rest  on  any  such 
theory. 

He  searched  where  the  stairs  ought  to  have  been,  to  discover 
if  they  had  been  removed,  but  could  not  find  any  sign. 

Continuing  his  examination,  he  scanned  the  wall  for  some 
sign  of  a  trap-door,  but  could  find  none.  Still  unsatisfied,  he 
commenced  sounding  the  walls  for  some  secret  panel  passage, 
but  failed  again. 

Even  after  all  the  above  failures  he  was  not  discouraged. 

The  facts  inspired  a  continued  search.  There  must  be  attic 
rooms,  and  he  had  heard  signs  of  the  presence  of  a  female  in 
the  house,  without  discovering  any  signs  of  her  former  presence 
in  any  of  the  rooms  that  he  had  examined. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A     STAKTLING     DISCOVEKY. 

The  detective  was  determined  to  search  for  rooms  above,  even 
if  he  were  compelled  to  pierce  the  ceiling  and  bore  his  way 
through. 

There  was  an  open  fire-place,  with  the  old-fashioned  and-irons 
ready  to  receive  the  burning  log.  The  detective  bent  down  and 
flashed  the  light  of  his  lamp  up  the  chimney  passage,  and  lo! 
his  search  was  rewarded. 

He  had  made  a  singular  and  curious  discovery.  The  light  of 
his  lantern  fell  upon  a  large,  old-fashioned  padlock  dangling 
some  two  feet  above  the  upper  molding  of  the  fire-place. 

tA.  padlock  in  a  chimney  passage  meant  something;  in  fact,  in 
his  own  mind,  Macon  Moore  was  assured  that  he  had  found  the 
secret  passage,  and  the  discovery  of  a  hidden  passage  meant  se 
cret  apartments,  and  secret  apartments  meant  a  prisoner. 

The  fire-place  had  not  been  iised  for  its  original  purpose  for 
years,  as  no  soot  had  accumulated;  and,  singularly  enough,  not 
even  the  dust  that  would  be  expected  to  gather  in  an  unused 
passage-way. 

The  detective  had  no  key,  but  with  the  use  of  a  little  powder 


112  MACON  MOORE, 

he  burst  the  lock,  and,  eureka!  the  mystery  was  solved.  A  door 
was  opened  and  a  miniature  staircase  was  disclosed. 

Ascending  the  stairs,  our  hero  found  himself  in  a  large  attic, 
and  to  the  rear  and  center  was  a  room  partitioned  off  with  an 
iron  door  attached. 

The  door  was  unlocked,  and  the  detective  entered  the  room. 

The  proofs  he  had  sought  lay  all  before  him. 

The  room  had  but  recently  been  occupied  by  a  female.  There 
was  no  chance  of  doubt  upon  the  above  score,  and  an  instant 
later  unmistakable  proofs  were  forthcoming  that  the  prisoner 
had  been  Lucy  Bridges. 

The  detective  found  the  very  dress,  torn  and  blood-stained, 
that  he  had  seen  upon  the  beautiful  girl  the  first  time  that  he 
had  seen  her  on  that  fatal  night  Avhen  tragedies  abounded. 

The  discovery  was  followed  by  the  suggestion  of  the  most  ter 
rible  possibilities. 

Macon  Moore  felt  his  heart  beat  tumultuously  as  he  considered 
the  lovely  girl's  possible  fate. 

She  had  been  nearly  a  week  a  prisoner  in  that  room,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  wretch  Arteaga,  and  the  detective's  knowledge  of 
the  fierce  character  of  her  captor  filled  his  heart  with  strange 
forebodings. 

No  time  was  to  be  lost.  One  fact  was  established:  Arteaga 
had  carried  his  prisoner  away,  and  Macon  Moore  must  strike  the 
trail,  and  at  all  hazards  follow  and  recover  her  from  the  villain's 
custody. 

The  flight  must  have  taken  place  within  a  few  hours.  There 
were  evidences  in  the  secret  room  showing  a  very  recent  occu 
pancy. 

The  detective  descended  from  the  attic  by  the  secret  passages, 
and  had  passed  out  to  the  upper  hall,  when  he  made  an  impor 
tant  discovery. 

He  had  been  trailed  to  Arteaga's  house. 

There  were  men  on  the  porch,  and  they  were  seeking  an  en 
trance  into  the  house. 

The  detective  knew  that  he  had  been  trailed  from  the  fact  that 
the  riders  had  not  used  the  knocker  to  summon  any  one  to  ad 
mit  them;  they  were  holding  a  consultation  on  the  piazza. 

He  would  have  stolon  down  the  stairs  and  have  left  the  house 
by  the  same  window  through  which  lie  had  entered,  but  ere  he 
could  run  down  and  carry  out  his  plan  the  door  was  burst  in, 
and  four  or  five  masked  men  entered. 

Out  went  the  detective's  litrht,  and,  re-entering  the  room  ho 
had  just  come  from,  he  ran  to  the  window  to  study  his  chances 
for  escape. 

It  was  eighteen  feet  to  the  ground,  and  he  dared  not  make  the 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  113 

leap,  lest  lie  might  be  disabled  and  fall  an  easy  victim  to  the  men 
who  were  seeking  to  assassinate  him. 

The  detective  had  recognized  Rogers  as  the  leader  of  the  party 
who  were  miming  him  down.  He  knew  the  man  by  reputation 
as  a  daring  and  desperate  villain,  who  would  stop  at  no  crime, 
and  who  was  shrewd  and  cunning. 

The  riders  held  a  consultation  in  the  lower  hall. 

The  detective  could  overhear  what  passed  between  them,  al 
though  they  spoke  in  very  low  tones. 

"It  is  dead  certain  that  we  traced  our  man  to  this  house!" 
said  Rogers. 

"And  it  is  dead  certain  that  I  saw  the  momentary  flash  of  a 
light  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms." 

"  Then  we  have  got  him  caged!" 

"Dead  sure!" 

"  We  must  not  lose  him  this  time!" 

"If  we  do  not  catch  him  now  we  never  will!" 

The  men  spoke  in  whispers,  but  being  right  above  them,  the 
detective  was  able  to  overhear  almost  every  word. 

"We  must  guard  against  any  of  this  man's  tricks,"  said 
Rogers. 

Macon  Moore  permitted  a  grim  smile  to  play  over  his  face. 

He  was  in  a  tight  hole,  but,  relying  upon  his  nerve  and  cour 
age,  was  determined  to  get  out  of  it. 

Nothing  would  have  suited  him  better  than  to  have  had  a 
hand-to-hand  conflict  with  Rogers.  The  fact  was,  he  would 
have  been  glad  to  remove  so  dangerous  a  man  from  his  path. 

Again  he  heard  Rogers  speak: 

"  Shoot  the  first  shadow  that  crosses  your  path!  Don't  stop  to 
identify  or  challenge!" 

"But  we  are  not  sure  we  have  trailed  the  right  man!"  came 
the  suggestion. 

"  We .  will  make  sure  by  dropping  the  wrong  one!"  was  the 
brutal  a'hswer. 

The  above  conversation  transpired  during  the  space  of  a  few 
seconds. 

The  detective  began  to  feel  that,  after  all,  he  would  bo  com- 
peHed  to  risk  the  leap  from  a  second-story  window,  but  a  certain 
change  in  the  programme  below  stairs  caused  him  to  abide  an 
other  chance. 

The  men  had  not  produced  any  lights.  Whether  it  was  an 
oversight  or  whether  the  omission  was  by  design,  our  hero  did 
not  know,  but  he  determined  to  avail  himself  of  the  omission. 

He  still  stood  by  the  stairway,  when  he  heard  Rogers  say: 

"Are  the  men  all  disposed  as  I  directed?" 

"Yes." 


114  MACON  MOORE, 

"There  is  no  chance  for  any  one  to  leave  this  house  at  any 
point  without  being  seen?" 

''A  mouse  couldn't  escape  without  being  seen/' 

"All  right.  Two  of  you  remain  at  this  stairway,  while  the 
other  two  search  every  room  on  this  floor  and  iu  the 'cellar;  and, 
niiud  you,  at  the  first  sight  of  a  shadow  of  a  man  drop  him.  No 
parley,  no  challenges!" 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do?"  asked  one  of  the  riders. 

"  Our  man  is  up-stairs.  I  will  go  up  alone,  and  woe  betide 
Macon  Moore  if  he  and  I  meet  face  to  face!" 

Our  hero  made  up  his  mind  that  all  of  the  latter  conversation 
was  intended  for  hearing. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

MACON    MOOEE   IN   A   COKNKR. 

If  Rogers  intended  to  weaken  his  man,  he  was  looking  down 
from  up  the  tree. 

Macon  Moore  was  not  a  man  who  scared.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  soldier  who  had  died  in  service,  and  he  had  encountered  more 
perilous  adventures  than  any  man  of  his  age  in  the  State. 

He  was  past  the  scare  period,  and  had  reached  that  point 
where  he  was  prepared  at  any  moment  to  die  with  his  boots  on. 

The  idea  pleased  him  that  there  was  a  prospect  of  a  hand-to- 
hand  conflict  with  the  deperate  Rogers. 

Under  other  circumstances  Macon  Moore  would  have  fought 
the  giant,  but  as  matters  stood  he  was  compelled  to  "play 
mouse  "  on  him. 

Our  hero  entered  the  room  farthest  from  the  stairway  and 
waited. 

A  few  moments  passed,  and  he  became  aware  of  the  fact  that 
his  enemy  was  approaching. 

Rogers  was  trying  to  move  in  a  very  stealthy  manner,  but  his 
great  weight  caused  an  occasional  creak  sufficient  for  our  hero  to 
mark  his  course  in  the  darkness. 

Rogers  had  made  so  many  boasts  that  it  had  become  a  fixed 
desire  in  his  mind  to  "  lay  out"  the  scourge  alone  and  unaided. 

The  fellow  craved  not  only  the  glory  of  the  deed,  but  the 
whole  of  the  reward. 

Forty  thousand  dollars  was  the  bait  that  had  been  dangled  be 
fore  his  greedy  eyes  and  he  wan  striving  to  capture  it  all. 

Macon  Moore  had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  his  game. 

He  made  a  slight  noise.  His  purpose  was  a  deliberate  inten 
tion  to  apprise  Rogers  of  his  presence. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  115 

The  moment  lie  made  the  noise  he  changed  his  position,  and 
became  aware  that  his  foe  had  come  to  a  halt. 

Rogers  did  not  dare  proceed  rashly.  He  had  too  great  a  re 
spect  for  the  coolness  and  prowess  of  the  man  he  was  "piping." 

It  was  a  fateful  moment.  Two  human  lives  hung  in  the  bal 
ance,  and  but  a  hair  suspended  the  drop. 

Rogers  feared  that  the  detective  might  get  the  bead  on  him 
and  shoot,  and  he  had  been  given  to  understand  that  when  his 
man  got  the  bead  some  other  man  was  sure  to  go  down. 

The  rider  shied  over  close  to  the  wall,  dropped  upon  his  hands 
and  kuees,  and  slowly  crawled  forward. 

Both  men  were  in  total  darkness.  It  was  impossible  even  to 
have  discovered  the  outline  of  a  person  standing  within  a  few 
feet. 

A  singular  incident  occurred. 

Macon  Moore's  keener  sense  of  hearing  was  a  better  guide  to 
him  at  the  moment  than  his  eyesight. 

He  was  assured  of  Rogers'  position,  and  taking  the  other  side 
of  the  hall,  he  crawled  past  his  man.  Thus,  within  a  few  sec 
onds,  the  positions  of  the  two  men  were  changed. 

Macon  Moore  was  maneuvering  for  an  advantage  ground. 

He  had  a  little  game  to  work,  but  it  required  that  he  should 
"light  on  "the  proper  position  to  work  it.  Again,  he  must 
carry  out  his  scheme  without  making  the  slightest  noise,  as  the 
faintest  sound  meant  death. 

Rogers  crawled  to  the  far  end  of  the  hall,  and  made  no  discov 
eries. 

It  was  now  our  hero's  time  to  act. 

It  was  a  truly  desperate  game  the  detective  was  playing,  and 
the  man  who  was  to  be  overcome  was  destined  to  become  an 
abettor  in  his  own  discomfiture. 

Macon  Moore,  having  changed  positions  with  Rogers,  ap 
proached  the  latter,  making  sufficient  noise  to  indicate  his  pre 
sence.  > 

It  was  a  critical  moment  when  our  hero  boldly  uttered  the 
warning  signal: 

"  Hist!" 

Rogersjcame  toward  him,  and  Moore  said,  in  a  whisper: 

"  We  have  trailed  him!" 

Speaking  in  a  whisper,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  detect  one's 
voice. 

"  Where  have  you  trailed  him?"  asked  Rogers,  also  in  a  whis 
per. 

"  He  is  hiding  in  the  library." 

"  Are  you  dead  sure?" 

"Yes." 

"I  heard  some  one  moving  by  here." 


116  MAt'ON   MOORE, 

The  two  men  had  their  heads  close  together,  and  the  detec 
tive's  opportunity  hud  come.  Suddenly,  and  with  the  quick 
ness  of  a  flash,  his  right  arm  was  extended  and  circled  down 
around  Rogers'  neck! 

The  detective  was  not  a  large  man,  but  he  possessed  muscles 
like  hardened  steel.  The  head  of  the  ponderous  Rogers  was 
jerked  downward,  and  the  next  instant  a  prepared  handkerchief 
was  pressed  against  his  mouth  and  nostrils. 

The  victim  of  the  maneuver  was  taken  at  a  disadvantage  l>y  the 
suddenness  and  dexterity  of  our  hero's  movements.  Ho  was 
compelled  to  inhale  a  long  breath,  and  in  so  doing  sucked  into 
his  lungs  the  fatal  vapor  with  which  the  handkerchief  had  been 
saturated. 

Instant  insensibility  followed,  and  the  huge  man  sank  over  as 
limp  and  helpless  as  a  young  girl  sinking  off  in  a  fainting  fit. 

Moore's  work  was  but  half  accomplished;  the  darbies,  which 
lie  always  carried  ready  for  use,  were  brought  into  immediate 
requisition,  and,  also,  ere  the  man  recovered  consciousness,  a  gag 
was  forced  into  his  mouth. 

The  same  handkerchief  which  had  carried  the  subtle  vapor 
was  made  to  serve  as  a  rope  whereby  to  bind  his  feet,  and  all 
WHS  secure. 

A  gentle  smile  irradiated  the  face  of  the  detective,  as  he  re 
alized  how  neatly  he  had  come  his  game  over  his  huge,  opponent, 
the  latter  having  boasted  so  often  as  to  what  he  would  do  with 
the  scourge. 

As  matters  stood,  it  appeared  as  though  the  tables  had  been 
very  cleverly  turned  over  on  him. 

Our  hero  intended  to  risk  a  little  enjoyment  of  his  singular 
victory.  He  waited  until  the  effects  of  the  subtle  vapor  had 
passed  away,  when  he  leaned  down  and  whispered  in  Rogers's 
ear: 

"  How  do  you  feel,  old  man?  Think  your  chance  is  good  for 
Arteaga's  gold?" 

It  was  too  dark  for  the  detective  to  observe  the  convulsion  of 
ml  disappointment  that  distorted  his  victim's  face.  He 
could  imagine  very  readily,  however,  that  the  convulsion  was 
there  all  the  same. 

Again  whispering  in  the  man's  ear,  the  detective  said: 

"  So  you  are  the  lad  that  was  to  lay  out  Macon  Moore,  eh? 
You  are  a  nice  chap  for  such  a  huge  job;  it  sort  of  strikes  me 
that  you  are  laying  out  quite  nice  and  snug  yourself  at  this 
moment." 

Our  hero  had  a  purpose  in  thus  tantalizing  his  man;  he  was 
not  doing  it  merely  to  torture  him,  he  was  taking  the  spunk  out 
of  the  man  and  making  him  less  dangerous  hi  H/f  future. 

Our  hero  never  did  things  for  fun,  as  the  sequel  will  show, 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  U7 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

OTJK  HEKO  GETS  OUT  OF  A  COKNER  AND  TUKNS  THE  TABLES. 

It  was  our  hero's  intention  to  let  Rogers  know  who  had 
"  downed  "  him. 

The  rider  lay  helpless  upon  the  floor,  and  was  destined  to  be 
still  more  thoroughly  tantalized,  and  compelled  to  more  com 
pletely  understand  what  a  wonderful  man  he  had  pitted  himself 
against. 

Going  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  the  detective  uttered  a  low 
whistle,  and  immediately  an  answering  whistle  was  heard. 

"All  right  below  there?"  cried  Moore,  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"All  right!"  came  the  answer. 

"  One  of  you  come  up  here!"  was  the  command  sent  down. 

One  of  the  men  who  had  been  left  to  watch  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  came  up. 

"Hist!''  said  the  detective,  and  the  man  halted. 

Our  hero  leaned  over  and  put  his  lip  to  the  man's  ear  and 
whispered : 

"  I've  got  him!" 

The  man  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  but  was  warned 
by  a  hist  to  speak  low. 

"Go  and  call  all  the  men,  and  gather  them  in  the  library." 

"Why?"  asked  the  man. 

"  I've  a  surprise  for  you." 

Darkness  aided  our  hero  in  carrying  out  his  scheme.  Again, 
it  is  a  common  thing  for  men  to  be  fooled  when  circumstances 
lead  them  to  accept  certain  facts  as  a  matter  of  course. 

When  men  are  prepared  to  take  things  for  granted,  it  is  an 
easy  thing  to  fool  their  senses. 

"When  all  the  men  are  gathered  in  the  library  four  of  you 
come  up  here  and  take  our  man  down-stairs." 

"Whatman?" 

"I've  got  him  bound  and  gagged  as  secure  as  a  roped  pig; 
but  don't  let  on  until  all  the  men  are  gathered  in  the  library.  I 
want  to^urprise  them." 

The  man  was  fooled. 

He  was  not  a  professional  detective,  and  not  suspicious,  and 
on  the  "lay"  for  points. 

The  moment  the  men  left  the  stairway  our  hero  returned  and 
Avlusporod  in  Rogers's  ear..: 

"It's  all  right!" 

The  fact  was  the  man  who  had  boasted  how  he  would  lay  out 
Miu-on  Moore,  the  scourge,  lay  helpless,  listening  to  every  word 
that  the  detective  had  said. 


118  MACON  MOORE, 

He  saw  through  the  wonderful  man's  scheme,  and  realized 
with  mental  gnashing  of  teeth  what  a  fearful  "rig"  was  being 
pla/ed  on  him. 

The  detective  came  back  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"It's  all  right!  They  will  not  hang  you  when  they  discover 
who  you  are." 

Our  hero  went  to  the  stairway,  and,  after  listening  a  moment, 
passed  down  and  took  a  position  in  the  rear  of  the  house. 

From  his  place  of  hiding  he  saw  the  men  gather  in  the  library. 
He  heard  their  laughing  and  congratulatory  remarks  upon  the 
capture  of  their  foe. 

"  Is  he  dead?"  asked  one. 

"  Shall  we  hang  him?"  asked  another. 

"  Rogers  is  a  trump,  after  all!"  exclaimed  a  third  man,  and  all 
wore  happy  and  delighted  over  the  wonderful  capture. 

The  detective  did  smile  as  he  overheard  the  above  remarks, 
and  he  contemplated  with  feelings  of  real  delight  their  chagrin 
and  mortification  when  they  should  make  the  singular  discovery 
that  awaited  them. 

At  length  it  was  announced  that  all  hands  were  gathered  in 
the  library,  and  Moore  ^aw  the  four  men  go  above  stairs  to  se 
cure  the  prisoner. 

It  was  time  for  him  to  leave,  and  he  passed  out  the  door,  and, 
running  round  the  house,  crept  to  a  window  from  whence  he 
could  see  into  the  room  where  the  scene  of  surprise  was  to 
occur. 

The  men  did  not  stay  to  lift  their  prisoner  down-stairs,  but 
dragged  him  down  in  the  most  careless  and  brutal  manner. 

He  was  dragged  into  the  library,  and  far  into  the  room  before 
they  stopped  to  take  a  look  at  him,  and  then — well,  such  an  ex 
pression  as  came  over  their  faces! 

They  all  took  in  the  situation  at  a  glance. 

That  wonderful  man,  Macon  Moore,  had  fooled  them  once 
more,  and  this  last  time  in  a  more  remarkable  manner  than  upon 
any  former  occasion. 

it  \vas  some  moments  before  they  recovered  sufficiently  from 
their  amazement  to  release  Rogers. 

They  had  stood  gazing  aghast  too  amazed  even  to  cnrse. 

At  length  one  of  them  set  to  work  to  free  their  leader  from  his 
bonds. 

The  moment  the  gag  was  taken  from  his  mouth  Rogers  expec 
torated  just  once,  and  then  a  torrent  of  oaths  fell  from  his  lips 
such  us  were  never  heard  to  fall  before  from  a  human  tongue. 

"  Where  is  he?"  shouted  the  man,  running  about  in  a  frantic 
manner. 

A  peculiar  noise  outside  the  house  informed  them  that  he  was 
not  far  off. 


THE  SOUTHEEN  DETECTIVE.  119 

A  stampede  of  horses  was  heard  and  the  truth  was  known. 

Macon  Moore  had  only  stopped  to  see  the  discovery  made,  and 
he  set  to  work  to  free  the  horses  of  the  riders,  and  all  were  loose 
and  wildly  galloping  away  in  a  few  seconds. 

Having  set  the  horses  free,  our  hero  sped  away  through  the 
darkness  to  the  point  where  he  had  tethered  his  own  horse. 
Once  mounted,  he  rode  down  towards  the  house  that  had  been 
the  scene  of  his  recent  adventure.  When  in  front  of  the  house 
he  uttered  a  loud  halloo  and  dashed  away.  He  had  a  purpose 
in  his  halloo.  His  purpose  was  to  draw  the  men  away  from  the 
place,  as  he  wished  to  pick  up  a  trail. 

The  girl  was  missing,  and  he  was  determined  to  find  her  dead 
or  alive,  if  possible,  before  the  dawn  of  another  day. 

An  hour  later  our  hero  reappeared  at  the  house  of  Arteaga. 

The  riders  had  gone,  and  he  had  the  field  to  himself,  and  had 
just  set  out  to  search  for  a  trail  when  he  became  the  hero  of  an 
other  strange  incident. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  PURSUIT. 

The  detective  had  returned  to  Arteaga's  house  in  search  of  a 
trail.  He -had  settled  the  question  as  to  the  fact  of  Lucy  Bridges 
having  been  a  prisoner  in  the  house,  and  his  purpose  was  to 
strike  a  trail. 

He  had,  as  stated  in  our  previous  chapter,  completely  demora 
lized  the  riders.  He  had  set  their  horst,s  loose,  and  started  them 
flying  off  in  different  directions. 

The  latter  maneuver  prevented  a  pursuit  of  himself. 

The  riders  could  not  afford  to  lose  their  steeds;  there  was  no 
article,  in  their  society's  constitution  that  provided  for  making 
good  the  loss  of  a  horse. 

Our  hero  waited  until  he  had  seen  them  all  depart,  hallooing 
and  gesticulating  like  so  many  wild  Indians. 

He  ^id  not  fear  their  immediate  return.  They  would  not  sus 
pect  that  the  detective  would  return,  and  that  was  just  the  reason 
that  he  did  so. 

There  was  no  question  in  our  hero's  mind  as  to  the  very  recent 
departure  of  the  captors  with  their  prisoner,  and  the  flight  had 
been  a  hurried  one. 

Dismounting,  Moore  proceeded  towards  the  house,  and  had 
gone  but  a  few  steps  when  he  saw  a  dark  figure  skulking  along 
under  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

He  drew  his  pistol  with  the  muttered  remark : 

"  Hello!  there's  one  of  the  rascals  t  till  loitering  around  here 


120  MACON  MOORE, 

to  dog  my  movements.  I  did  not  give  the  fellows  credit  for  so 
much  shrewdness." 

It  must  be  remembered  that  a  majority  of  the  riders  were 
merely  employees  of  the  distillers. 

They  were  not  intelligent  men  as  a  class,  although  there  were 
really  smart  and  well-educated  men  among  them. 

It  was  the  former  fact  that  caused  the  detective's  contempt  of 
the  riders  as  a  whole. 

The  moment  he  detected  the  skulker,  as  stated,  he  drew  his 
pistol,  quietly  cocked  if,  and  dropped  down  in  the  grass  on  the 
watch. 

"Ill  just  reconnoiter  you,  my  man,  a  bit,"  he  muttered. 

The  skulker  disappeared  in  the  woods,  and  the  detective,  after 
waiting  a  few  moments,  moved  off,  dodging  from  tree  to  tree, 
until  he  came  to  the  stone  wall  lining  Arteaga's  grounds.  Onco 
beside  the  wall,  ho  started  at  a  swift  pace  until  he  reached  a 
point  from  where  he  could  cross  unobserved  over  to  the  woods, 
and  again  along  through  the  brusji  to  a  position  behind  tho 
skulker. 

Without  accident  he  accomplished  his  purpose,  and  once  again 
came  in  sight  of  his  man. 

The  latter  was  standing  on  the  verge  of  tho  brush,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  house. 

As  the  detective  approached  nearer  he  saw  that  tho  man  had 
his  head  bandaged,  as  though  he  had  been  wounded  by  blows. 

"  Who  can  he  be?"  muttered  Moore,  as  a  recollection  came  to 
his  mind  that  he  had  not  wounded  any  of  the  riders  in  such  a 
manner. 

Suddenly  a  strange  suspicion  flashed  across  his  mind.  He 
moved  closer  to  the  man,  and  at  length  uttered  the  signal  whistle 
that  had  been  arranged  as  a  recognition-call  between  him  and  the 
father  of  Lucy  Bridges. 

The  moment  he  uttered  the  signal  he  saw  the  man  bend  his 
head  and  listen. 

The  detective  stepped  from  cover  and  approached. 

It  was  Leonard  Bridges  who  stood  before  him. 

The  two  men  exchanged  rapid  greetings,  when  the  detective 
asked : 

"Where  have  you  been?     What  has  happened?" 

"They  have  stolen  my  child  away.  The  poor  darling  will  be 
come  the  victim  of  that  wretch,  Arteaga!" 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it?" 

"  You  left  me  to  watch,  and  nothing  occurred  until  just  before 
daylight,  or  just  about  daylight,  this  morning.'' 

"  What  occurred  then?" 

"Arteaga  returned  to  his  home  on  a  horse  flecked  with  foam; 
he  had  evidentlv  had  a  hard  ride.  A  few  moments  after  his  re- 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  121 

turn  he  was  joined  by  three  men;  the  latter  came  in  a  close  car 
riage.  'I  crept  close  and  watched,  and  soon  saw  a  woman  closely 
veiled  brought  from  the  house  and  placed  in  the  carriage,  and, 
before  I  could  thoroughly  realize  what  was  being  accomplished 
or  interfere,  the  carriage  drove  away." 

"  It  was  your  daughter  they  were  carrying  off." 

"I  know  that;  and  the  moment  I  recovered  from  the  fii'st feel 
ing  of  surprise  and  horror,  I  ran  away  in  the  same  direction  the 
carriage  had  been  driven." 

"You  could  not  follow  a  carriage  for  comfort,  old  man." 

"  I  did  not.  Half  a  mile  from  here,  at  a  farm-house,  I  secured 
a  horse  and  ctfntinued  the  pursuit,  and  ten  miles  from  here  I 
overtook  the  party.  I  rode  right  up  and  challenged  them,  when 
I  was  set  upon,  beaten  to  insensibility,  and  must  have  been 
thrown  over  a  fence,  while  still  insensible,  into  the  brush." 

"  They  probably  thought  it  was  a  corpse  they  were  throwing 
over  the  fence." 

"  They  probably  did;  and  I  must  have  lain  for  a  long  time,  as 
it  was  far  into  the  day  when  I  recovered  consciousness,  and 
found  myself  lying  behind  a  ditch,  covered  with  blood." 

"  You  should  not  have  declared  yourself." 

"  What!  would  you  have  me  stand  idly  by  and  see  my  beauti 
ful  child  carried  off  as  the  victim  of  a " 

"Hush!"  cried  the  detective;  "do  not,  even  to  yourself,  ad 
mit  that  fact,  although  you  have  made  the  recognition." 

"I  did,  the  moment  I  recalled  the  strange  questions  you  put 
to  me." 

"  It  would  have  been  fortunate  if  you  had  just  tracked  them, 
and  then  returned  to  me.  What  could  an  old  man  do  against 
four  well-armed  ruffians?" 

'-I  did  not  think  they  would  dare  attack  me  in  open  daylight 
with  houses  so  near,  and  negroes  working  in  the  fields  a  short 
distance  away." 

"  Did  you  not  make  an  outcry?" 

"No;  the  first  blow  must  have  knocked  me  insensible." 

"Where  did  this  occur?" 

The  old  clergyman  described  the  place.  It  was  at  a  point 
where  ttfree  roads  diverged.  The  party  had  merely  stopped  to 
rest'their  horses  and  give  them  drink  in  a  run  that  crossed  the 
road. 

"  You  need  have  no  fear;  I  will  rescue  your  child!" 

"  But  what  will  you  return  to  me?"  asked  the  old  man,  in  a 
tone  of  anguish  pitiful  to  hear. 

"  I  will  return  her  to  you  as  beautiful  and  pure  as  an  angel 
from  heaven  ["answered  the  detective,  in  a  tone  of  vehemence. 

"Never!  never!  That  mulatto  fiend  Avill  improve  his  opportu 
nity.  O  Heaven!  I  would  my  child  were  dead!" 


122  MACON  MOORE, 

"You  need  liave  no  such  wish.  You  have  everything  to 
hope.  I  tell  you  your  child  shall  be  restored  pure  and  un 
harmed.  " 

"  On  what  grounds  dare  you  make  such  a  promise  to  a  heart 
broken  father  V 

"I  will  tell  you.  Arteaga  knows  that  Macon  Mowe  is  on  his 
track!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

IN   A   DILEMMA. 

"  I  know  you  are  a  wonderful  man,  but  that  fiend  has  my  child 
in  his  power,  and  what  will  restrain  him?" 

"  The  knowledge  that  lam  on  his  track.  He  will  not  dare 
harm  your  child  as  long  as  I  am  above  ground.  And  I  shall  not 
sleep  until  that  wretch  and  I  are  face  to  face,  and  I  shall  demand 
Lucy  at  his  hands.  He  knows  that,  old  man!" 

"But  why  then  does  he  dare  steal  her  away  and  detain  her  in 
his  Tiateful  costody?" 

"  He  is  retaining  her  in  the  hope  that  something  will  happen 
to  me.  If  I  should  fall,  God  help  your  child!"  added  the  detec 
tive,  in  a  tone  of  chilling  solemnity. 

"  I  shall  pray  unceasingly  that  nothing  will  happen  to  you." 

"I  have  no  fears;  I  am  used  to  greater  perils  than  I  am  likely 
to  encounter  in  trailing  Arteaga  and  his  hirelings.  The  game 
will  soon  be  in  mv  own  hands;  and  then  woe  betide  that  skulking 
fiend!" 

The  confident  tone  in  which  the  detective  spoke  reassured  the 
old  man. 

As  the  two  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  an  idea  sud 
denly  came  to  our  hero. 

There  was  not  much  difference  in  the  build  of  himself  and  the 
old  clergyman.  The  detective  possessed  such  a  wonderful  skill 
in  "  make  up,"  that  he  knew  he  could  disguise  himself  so  as  to 
assuni"  the  counterpart  appearance  of  the  old  man. 

"  We  will  go  into  the  house,"  he  said. 

"When  will  you  start  after  the  abductors?" 

"At  once;  but  first  I  must  prepare  myself  for  the  long  trail." 

"How  prepare  yourself?" 

The  detective  laughed,  as  he  remarked: 

"C'ome  into  Arteaga' s  house,  and  in  a  little  while  I  will  have  a 
surprise  for  you." 

The  detective  easily  found  a  means  for  entering  the  house. 

'Hi"  clergyman  was  surprised,  when  a  light  had  been  pro 
cured,  to  see  the  rich  articles  of  furniture  scattered  around  in 
careless  confusion. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  123 

"To  think,"  he  said,  "that  such  a  wretch  should  be  the  master 
of  such  costly  wares!" 

•'  The  fruits  of  an  illicit  traffic,"  said  Macon  Moore. 

The  two  men  were  in  the  library,  and  the  clergyman  was  sur 
prised  wheii  ordered  to  remove  his  outer  clothing. 
'  What!     Do  you  mean  to  remain  here  all  night?" 
'No;  I  mean  to  borrow  your  clothes." 
'  And  am  I  to  assume  yours?" 

'  Until  such  time  as  you  can  reach  the  house  of  your  friend." 
'  Am  I  not  to  accompany  you  in  the  pursuit  of  my  child?" 
'No;  I  have  another  mission  for  you.     Your  assistance  I  will 
need,  but  not  on  the  trail." 

The  old  clergyman  removed  his  clothing. 

Taking  the  clothes,  our  hero  went  up-stairs.  He  had  a  light 
with  him,  and  sought  Arteaga's  chamber,  and,  with  the  aid  of  a 
mirror,  commenced  the  metamorphosis. 

In  about  twenty  minutes  the  detective  returned  to  the  lower 
room;  and  as  he  entered  the  old  clergyman  uttered  an  exclama 
tion  of  amazenrent. 

"  It's  my  very  self!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Would  I  pass  for  Dominie  Bridges  among  strangers?" 

"  I  tell  you  it's  my  very  self!" 

The  detective  laughed  as  he  said: 

"I  may  give  you  the  credit  for  being  a  very  warlike  man  with 
in  the  next  forty-eight  hours." 

The  old  man,  despite  his  sorrow  and  anguish,  was  compelled 
to  smile  at  the  odd  conceit,  and  he  remarked: 

"It  will  amaze  those  rascals  when  you  come  across  them  to 
find  the  dominie  a  man  of  knives  and  pistols." 

"Yes,  that's  my  idea;  and  my  present  disguise  will  be  an  ad 
vantage  on  that  account." 

"Why?" 

"  They  will  be  off  their  guard;  and  when  they  come  to  it,  alas! 
if  I  am  true  to  myself,  it  will  be  too  late!" 

"  When  do  yon  start  after  them?" 

"At  once.     And  now  I  will  send  you  on  a  mission." 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  anywhere." 

The  detective  told  the"  old  man  what  he  wanted  him  to  do,  and 
they  extinguished  the  lights  and  stole  forth  from  the  house. 

A  quarter  moon  was  shining,  and  as  Macon  stole  forth,  on  his 
guard  as  usual,  lie  heard  a  stop. 

"Hist!"  he  wispered,  warningly,  and  motioned  to  his  com 
panion  to  lie  low. 

A  train  the  detective  had  learned  the  advantage  of  his  constant 
caution. 

Had  ho  and  the  clergyman  left,  the  house  as  though  all  were 
right,  alarm  would  have  been  given  at  an  unfortunate  moment. 


124  MACOX  MOORE, 

The  two  men  had  stolen  from  the  house  by  the  rear  entrance, 
and  it  was  steps  upon  the  front  piazza  that  our  hero  had  over 
heard. 

Ho  told  his  companion  to  remain  quiet,  and  More  stole  around 
to  the  front  of  the  house.  As  he  reached  the  end  of  the  piazza, 
he  cautiously  glanced  over  the  edge,  and  saw  the  shadow  of  a 
mau  reflected  on  one  of  the  portico  columns. 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  extinguished  his  light  in  the  house 
just  in  time. 

The  man  on  the  piazza  was  evidently  reconnoitering.  He 
glanced  about  in  every  direction.  The  detective  learned  this  by 
watching  the  glancing  movements  of  the  shadow,  as  he  could 
not  see  the  man,  who  was  standing  close  in  the  doorway. 

At  length  the  man  stepped  out  upon  the  piazza.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  his  suspicion  had  been  aroused  or  his  keen  instincts 
alarmed.  He  came  towards  the  end  of  the  piazza  where  our 
hero  was  crouching. 

The  latter  darted  away  and  ran  round  to  the  rear  of  the  house, 
and  whispered  to  the  clergyman  to  follow  him, 

Macon  Moore  had  recognized  the  man  the  moment  he  had 
stepped  out  from  the  doorway. 

The  two  men  ran  down  the  garden-path  and  sought  conceal 
ment  behind  out-buildings. 

They  were  just  in  time,  as  tho  man  came  around  the  corner  of 
the  house,  evidently  taking  all  the  bearings. 

The  detective  stole  forth  as  the  man  disappeared  around  the 
opposite  side  of  the  house. 

It  appeared  a  fortunate  circumstance  to  our  hero  that  he  had 
discovered  the  man,  as  it  was  Pedro,  the  minion  and  confiden 
tial  confederate  of  the  man  Arteaga. 

The  detective  sought  his  former  vantage-ground  at  the  end  of 
the  piazza,  and  was  crouched  there  when  Pedro  came  around 
and  reascended  the  stoop. 

It  was  evident  that  the  man  had  been  sent  back  by  his  master 
to  reconuoiter. 

Macon  Moore  was  in  a  dilemma.  Should  he  declare  himself 
to  the  half-breed  and  force  a  confession;  or  should  he  merely 
trail  him,  and  discover  by  the  latter  means  the  new  prison  of  the 
girl? 

Had  Pedro  gone  away  the  detective  would  have  merely  fol 
lowed  him,  but  the  man  entered  the  house. 

Like  the  shadow  of  doom  the  detective  stole  round  to  the  rear 
of  the  house  and  entered  also. 


THE   SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  125 


CHAPTEE  XXXVIII. 

AN   EXTRAORDINARY   ANTAGONIST. 

The  two  men  were  in  the  house. 

It  was  evident  that  Pedro  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
there  was  no  one  around  the  premises. 

The  half-breed  was  destined  to  be  undeceived  in  a  most  start 
ling  and  marvelous  manner. 

The  man  entered  the  library  and  struck  a  light,  and  as  the 
illumination  chased  the  darkness  away  he  turned  about  and  be 
held  the  old  clergyman  standing  in  the  room. 

A  cry  of  terror  burst  from  Pedro's  lips.  The  man  had  boon 
present  when  the  old  clergyman  had  been  beaten  and  thrown  as 
a  corpse  over  the  fence  into  the  ditch;  and  there  he  stood,  seem 
ingly  unhurt,  and  without  the  sign  of  a  single  wound. 

The  half-breed  at  once  conceived  the  idea  that  he  was  being 
confronted  by  a  ghost. 

The  impression,  under  the  circumstances,  was  a  natural  one 
to  a  man  who  was  prepared  to  believe  in  apparitions;  and  again, 
the  fact  of  being  in  a  deserted  house,  and  having  a  form  appi-ar 
so  mysteriously  and  so  noiselessly,  aided  the  deception. 

Pedro  stood  gazing  with  distended  eyes  and  trembling  limbs, 
when  there  came  a  voice  demanding: 

"Where  is  my  child?" 

The  man  could  not  reply.  His  tongue  literally  cleaved  to  the 
roof  of  his  mouth. 

Again  came  the  voice  demanding:  "Where  is  my  child?"  and 
a  pointing  finger  was  extended  towards  the  cowering  wretch. 

Pedro  still  remained  silent  and  trembling,  when  his  ques 
tioner  coughed. 

The  half-breed  was  no  coward  when  face  to  face  with  a  mortal; 
especially  did  he  became  fearless  when  his  fears  of  a  supernatu 
ral  presence  were'  dispelled.  He  knew  that  it  was  not  natural 
for  a  ghost  to  cough. 

The  demand  for  the  child  had  come  from  a  feeble  old  man. 
It  was  no  ghost,  but  only  a  clergyman,  an  aged  man. 

Pedro's  courage  returned,  and  in  a  cold  voice  he  in  turn  de 
manded: 

'Where  did  you  come  from,  you  old  fool?" 
'No  matter  where  I  came  from;  where  is  my  daughter?" 
'How  did  you  get  into  this  house?" 
'  Where  is  my  child?" 

'  Your  child  is  all  right.     You  will  see  her  in  a  few  days, 
when  she  returns  from  her  wedding-trip. " 


12(3  MACON  MOOKK, 

Macon  Moore  Avas  rejoiced  that  those  suggestive  and  ominous 
words  had  not  fallen  011  the  ears  of  Leonard  Bridges. 

They  sent  a  thrill  of  apprehension  to  the  detective's  heart. 

"Who  has  my  child  married?" 

"  She  is  now  Mrs.  Arteaga." 

"  Villain!  you  speak  falsely,  and  you  know  it." 

Pedro  laughed  in  a  jeering  manner,  when  the  pretended 
father  stepped  to  the  library  table,  over  which  the  half-breed 
was  standing. 

"Fiend!  you  are  but  torturing  me." 

"Is  it  torture  for  a  poor  clergyman  to  know  that  his  daughter 
lias  become  the  wife  of  a  rich  gentleman?" 

"Yes,  it  is  torture  when  the  foul  news  is  uttered  by  lips  as 
false  as  thine." 

"  Look  out,  old  man,  you  may  exhaust  my  patience." 

"And  if  I  should?" 

"I  would  forget  that  you  are  a  clergyman  and  tweak  your 
nose." 

"  What!  a  miserable  son  of  a  slave  wring  the  nose  of  a  gentle 
man?" 

Pedro's  eyes  blazed  with  a  lurid  light,  and  he  suddenly 
reached  forth  his  hands  over  the  table  to  seize  the  seeming  old 
man  by  the  throat. 

He  recoiled,  however,  when  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  was  pressed 
against  his  nose. 

"  What!  You  would  shoot!"  he  cried,  starting  back  and  run 
ning  his  hand  to  his  pocket  as  though  about  to  draw  a  weapon. 

"  Hold  on,  Pedro;  do  not  attempt  to  draw  or  I  will  fire!" 

The  old  man  spoke  in  a  firm  tone,  and  Pedro's  hand  was 
halted  as  though  stricken  with  a  sudden  paralysis. 

"Now,  then,  you  scoundrel!  tell  me  to  what  point  my  child 
has  been  carried!" 

The  half-breed,  seeing  that  he  was  at  a  disadvantage,  changed 
his  game. 

"I  know  nothing  about  your  daughter." 

"  Why  did  you  tell  me  she  was  a  wife?" 

"  I  was  only  fooling  you.     I  know  nothing  about  her." 

"And  I  know  that  you  are  answering  me  falsely." 

Pedro  was  only  playing  for  time.  The  fellow  felt  mortified 
at  thus  being  held  at  a  disadvantage  by  a  feeble  old  man. 

"I  will  tell  you  the  truth  if  you  Avill  lower  your  pistol." 

The  pretended  old  man  lowered  his  pistol,  when  the  half-breed 
suddenly  knocked  the  weapon  from  his  hand  and  seized  hold  of 
him. 

The  two  men  clinched  in  an  instant,  and  a  most  unexpected 
result  followed. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  127 

The  feeble  old  man,  singularly  enough,  in  a  most  remarkable 
manner  developed  the  strength  of  a  giant. 

Pedro  was  drawn  clear  over  the  table  as  though  he  had  been 
but  an  infant,  and  as  quickly  he  was  thrown  to  the  floor,  while 
the  old  man  planted  his  knee  upon  his  chest  and  seized  him  by 
the  throat. 

The  whole  maneuver  was  executed  so  deftly  and  quickly  that 
Pedro  did  not  realize  what  had  happened  until  he  found  himself 
pinned  to  the  floor  and  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  his  wonderful 
antagonist. 

"Now,  you  tricky  scoundrel,  I  will  choke  the  truth  from  your 
throat!"  and  the  iron-like  grip  was  tightened  about  Pedro's  neck 
until  he  began  to  turn  black  in  the  face. 

The  man  had  never  been  so  near  death  before  in  his  life. 
It  was  not  that  he  had  been  in  peril,  but  this  deliberate  chok 
ing  of  the  life  out  of  him  filled  him  with  the  wildest  terrors,  and 
in  a  gurgling  tone  he  gasped  for  mercy. 

The  vise-like  grip  was  loosened,  and  the  fellow  pleaded  for  his 
life. 

The  grit  was  all  taken  out  of  him.  He  had  been  the  victim  of 
a  succession  of  startling  surprises. 

When  he  had  first  discovered  that  it  was  not  the  ghost  of  the 
old  clergyman,  he  had  looked  upon  a  physical  contest  with  the 
old  man  as  an  easy  conquest;  but  when  he  was  held  at  the  other's 
mercy  his  whole  idea  of  the  matter  changed. 
"  You  wish  me  to  spare  your  life?" 
The  man  begged  piteously. 

"And  yet  but  a  moment  ago  you  took  delight  in  informing 
me  that  my  child  was  given  over  to  a  fate  worse  than  death." 
'  No,  no;  Arteaga  will  make  her  his  wife!" 
;  Will  make  her  his  wife?" 
Yos." 
When?" 

;  As  soon  as  he  reaches  Cuba." 
'  Then  she  is  not_fet  his  wife?" 
'No." 

'  They  are  on  their  way  to  Cuba?" 
'  Yes.'" 

'  They  will  await  vour  return?" 
;  Yes.'" 
'  Where?" 
A  hopeless  expression  came  to  Pedro's  eyes,  and  he  was  silent. 


128  MACON  MOORE, 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

AT   HIS   MEKCY. 

The  man  at  the  last  moment  had  como  to  suspect  the  fatal 
truth. 

Ho  was  not  in  the  hands  of  the  old  clergyman,  but  in  the 
strong  grasp  of  that  wonderful  man,  Macon  Moore. 

To  answer  the  question  was  to  put  his  master  in  jeopardy;  to 
refuse  to  answer  was  to  sacrifice  his  own  life.  Now  that  he  had 
come  to  realize  into  whose  hands  he  had  fallen,  all  hope  of  mercy 
had  fled. 

"Speak,  man,  or  die!" 

A  certain  consideration  had  frozen  Pedro's  lips.     He  feared 
that  after  betraying  his  master  he  might  lose  his  life  all  the  same. 
'If  I  speak  you  will  kill  me?" 
'  No;  if  you  tell  me  the  truth  I  will  let  you  go.' 
'  I  have  your  word?" 
'  You  have  my  word." 

'Remember  I  betray  my  master  to  save  my  own  life!" 
'I  shall  remember  that  fact,"  said  the  detective,  as  a  grim 
smile  played  over  his  face. 

The  half-breed  mentioned  a  hotel  in  the  city  of  Savannah, 
where  he  said  Arteaga  was  to  await  his  return. 

"  You  are  telling  the  truth?" 

"  I  am." 

The  detective  released  his  hold  upon  the  man's  throat,  and, 
after  disarming  him,  permitted  him  to  rise. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  room,  and  our  hero  could  plainly 
watch  the  workings  of  the  dark  features  of  the  man  he  had  re 
leased. 

Pedro  could  not  prevent  a  gleam  of  cunning  triumph  showing 
in  his  eyes. 

Alas!  Macon  Moore  was  but  playing  with  the  fellow  as  a  well- 
fed  eat  plays  with  a  mouse. 

He  had  released  him  only  to  wateh  him.  and  not  to  let  him  go. 

Our  hero's  keen  eyes  detected  the  but  half-revealed  look  of 
tiiumph,  and  he  said: 

"  Pedro,  I've  changed  my  mind." 

The  look  of  triumph  faded  from  the  wretch's  eyes  and  was 
supplemented  by  a  returning  glance  of  terror. 

"I  have  your  word!"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"My  word  was  binding  only  on  condition  that  you  told  me 
the  truth." 

"I  did  tell  you  the  truth!" 

"  I  know  better!    Your  master  is  stopping  at " 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  129 

The  detective  mentioned  a  bouse  some  twenty  miles  distant 
that  had  been  under  police  surveillance  for  some  mouths.  The 
house  was  under  suspicion  as  being  the  resort  of  certain  crimi 
nal  characters. 

Upon  the  mention  of  the  locality  a  convulsion  passed  over 
Prdro's  face. 

The  detective  had  spoken  of  the  house  at  random.  It  had 
come  as  a  remote  suspicion  to  his  mind  that  there  was  a  possi 
bility  that  Arteaga  had  made  a  temporary  refuge  of  the  place. 

The  convulsion  that  passed  over  Ped'ro's  face  confirmed  his 
suspicion,  and  hope  once  more  rose  in  his  heart.  He  realized 
that  he  was  yet  in  time  to  save  the  girl  and  return  her  to  her 
father  pure  and  uninjured  as  she  had  been  taken  from  her  home. 

"You  have  forfeited  your  life,  Pedro!" 

The  half-breed  sprang  to  the  table  and  seized  the  pistol  that 
our  hero  laid  there  when  he  first  had  his  clinch  with  Pedro. 

"It  is  you  who  would  forfeit  your  word!"  cried  the  half- 
breed,  and  he  brought  the  pistol  to  a  level  and  held  our  hero  at 
his  mercy. 

There  was  no  question  as  to  the  latter  fact.  It  was  at  short 
range,  and  Pedro  was  no  tyro  with  a  weapon. 

The  great  detective  had  unconsciously  fallen  into  a  trap.  He 
was  human  and  not  bullet-proof. 

It  was  a  moment  to  try  our  hero's  nerve  and  presence  of  mind. 

The  least  movement  would  have  been  an  invitation  for  Pedro 
to  shoot. 

Macon  Moore  smiled,  and  in  the  most  assured  tone,  said: 

"  Why  don't  you  shoot?" 

"  I  have  you  at  my  mercy  now." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  shoot?"  repeated  the  detective. 

There  was  "something  in  the  detective's  tone  that  caused  the 
half-breed  to  hesitate. 

He  saw  a  grim  smile  of  indifference  playing  over  the  detec 
tive's  face.  The  latter  did  not  look  as  though  he  was  at  the 
mercy  of  any  man.  • 

"  Pledge  me  youV  word  that  I  shall  go  free  and  I  will  lower 
the  pistol." 

The  half-breed  appeared  afraid  to  fire.  He  trembled  even 
while  holding  the  advantage  in  the  presence  of  that  wonderful 
man. 

"  I  give  no  pledges,  you  fool!     That  pistol  is  empty." 

Pedro  dropped  bis  eyo  just  one  instant  to  glance  at  his  pistol, 
and  in  that  instant  our  hero  had  drawn  his  own  weapon  and  it 
was  eye  to  eye  and  muzzle  to  muzzle. 

The  half-breed  had  lost  the  game.  He  was  no  match  for  the 
'man  he  was  pitted  against. 

Macon  Moore  repeated  his  challenge,  '•  Why  don't  you  shoot?" 


130  MACO&  MOORE, 

Pedro  made  no  reply. 

"  Drop  jour  arm  or  go  down!"  said  the  detective,  in  a  steady 
voice. 

The  half-breed  lowered  his  pistol.  The  very  presence  of 
Macon  Moore  was  too  much  for  his  nerve  and  courage. 

Again  he  was  at  the  inercy  of  our  hero. 

The  latter  did  not  need  to  ask  him  any  more  questions.  The 
fellow's  manner  had  betrayed  the  truth. 

The  detective  advanced  and  clapped  the  handcuffs  on  the 
prisoner  and  securely  bound  him,  after  having  carried  him  up 
to  the  attic,  where  he  made  him  a  captive  in  the  same  iron- 
bound  room  where  Lucy  Bridges  had  been  confined. 

Macon  Moore  descended  the  stairs,  left  the  house,  and  joined 
the  old  clergyman. 

"It  was  Pedro,"  he  said. 

"  Why  did  you  let  the  man  go?" 

"I  did  not  let  him  go";  and  the  detective  related  what  had  oc 
curred,  and  disclosed  the  mystery  of  the  secret  room. 

"You  have  confined  him  there?" 

"I  have,  and  if  anything  happens  to  me  you  must  see  that  in 
due  time  the  fellow  is  released,  lest  he  may  starve;  and  wretch 
as  he  is,  I  would  not  consign  him  to  such  a  fearful  fate!" 

"  Did  you  learn  anything  as  to  the  fate  of  my  child?" 

"Your child  is  safe,  and  the  chances  are  that  ere  daylight  I 
iruiy  rescue  her." 

The  detective  had  omitted  in  his  relation  that  part  of  the 
conversation  between  himself  and  Pedro  concerning  the  captive 
girl. 

A  few  moments  later  and  Macon  Moore  was  mounted  and 
galloping  through  the  night  toward  the  suspected  house  where 
Arteaga  and  his  minions  had  taken  refuge. 

Of  one  thing  our  hero  had  assured  himself,  the  abductors  were 
not  riders;  from  the  account  of  Mr.  Bridges  he  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  fellows  were  real  Spaniards  whom  Arteaga 
had  employed. 

The  detective  well  knew  the  probable  desperate  character  of 
the  men,  and  was  prepared  for  fierce  combat  with  them. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

MASTER   OP   THE   FIELD. 

It  was  midnight  when  Macon  Moore  reached  the  house. 
There  was  a  light  in  one  of  the  lower  rooms. 
The  place  was  an  ordinary  country  house,  with  broad  piazzas 
front  and  rear. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  131 

After  picketing  his  horse  he  approached  the  house.  Having 
removed  his  boots,  and  replaced  them  by  moccasins,  his  tread 
was  stealthy  and  noiseless. 

With  a  cat-like  movement  he  crept  along  the  piazza  until  he 
arrived  opposite  the  window  opening  into  the  room  from  whence 
came  the  glimmer  of  a  light. 

There  were  four  men  in  the  room — four  desperate-looking 
villains,  whose  bronzed  faces  proclaimed  them  Spaniards  or 
Creoles. 

They  were  throwing  dice,  and  as  mu^h  at  home  in  all  their 
roughness  as  though  in  a  common  bar-room. 

The  detective  remembered  that  the  rascals  belonged  to  a  very 
superstitious  race,  and  he  determined  to  take  advantage  of  this 
infirmity. 

The  terror  Pedro  had  displayed  was  a  sure  testimony  that  the 
men  had  believed  that  they  had  killed  the  old  clergyman. 

Our  hero  resolved  to  give  the  rascals  a  surprise,  and  as  subse 
quent  events  proved,  it  became  a  night  of  strauge  and  startling 
surprises. 

The  detective  considered  a  moment  how  he  should  proceed  in 
his  ghost  scheme. 

Having  decided  upon  a  plan,  he  set  out  to  put  it  in  execution. 
His  first  move  was  to  provide  for  a  sudden  entrance  into  the 
house.  Fortunately,  he  understood  all  the  bearings  of  the  place 
well;  in  fact,  probably  better  than  the  men  whom  he  was  about 
to  startle  by  strange  appearances. 

Macon  Moore  had  once  "trailed  "  a  party  to  the  same  place, 
and  during  his  "piping"  tour  about  the  house,  made  some 
sti'ange  discoveries. 

There  was  a  panel  entrance  into  the  very  room  where  the  men 
were  gathered. 

The  shutters  were  wide  open,  and  our  hero  placed  himself 
directly  before  the  window,  standing  fully  revealed  in  outline  to 
the  occupants  of  the  room. 

He  stood"  as  rigid  as  thgugh  he  were  a  statue. 

Some  moments  passed. 

The  men  were  so  intently  occupied  in  their  game  that  their 
looks  were  centered  upon  the  table. 

At  length  one  of  them  chanced  to  glance  toward  the  window. 
A  low,  startled  cry  fell  from  the  man's  lips,  and  he  called  his 
companion's  attention  to  the  apparition. 

One  of  the  men  drew  his  pistol,  took  deliberate  aim,  and  fired. 

The  ball  crashed  through  the  glass,  the  smoke  cleared  away, 
and  there  stood  the  ghost. 

The  men's  faces  turned  pnl<\ 

They  glanced  into  eadi  other's  faces,  nnd  then  fixed  their 
startled  gaze  on  the  ghost  that  would  not  down. 


-!:>-'  MACOX  MOOKi:, 

While  still  gazing  the  form  faded  from  their  view. 

A  few  moments  passed,  when  the  fellows  mustered  sufficient 
courage  to  take  each  a  drink  from  a  black  bottle  standing  on  the 
table. 

Shortly  they  resumed  their  game.  The  fellows  were  pretty 
well  under  the  influence  of  the  liquor  they  had  been  drinking, 
and  less  calculative  than  they  would  have  been  under  other 
circumstances. 

They  had  resumed  play,  and  were  commenting  on  their  good 
and  bad  luck  with  the  accustomed  flow  of  vile  curses,  when  sud 
denly  right  in  their  midst  stood  the  ghastly  form  of  the  mur 
dered  clergyman. 

AYith  wild  shrieks,  the  men  rushed  from  the  room,  right 
through  the  window,  literally  dashing  the  glass  to  atoms. 

The  ghost  was  master  of  tne  field. 

Macon  Moore,  or  rather  the  ghost,  permitted  an  amused  smile 
to  play  over  his  ghostly  countenance  as  he  glided  out  of  the  room 
into  the  broad  hall. 

The  men  who  had  rushed  from  the  room  were  thoroughly 
frightened,  and  kept  running  until  they  were  far  from  the  house. 

In  the  meantime  the  apparition  stood  in  the  hall  listening,  to 
discover  whether  or  not  the  shrieks  of  the  men  had  attracted  the 
attention  of  any  one  else  in  the  building. 

Silence  reigned,  and  the  detective  began  to  fear  that  he  had 
arrived  too  late.  It  did  not  seem  possible  to  him  that  there 
could  have  been  other  people  in  the  house,  else  they  would  have 
shown  up. 

Macon  Moore,  as  our  readers  know,  never  took  anything  for 
granted,  and  he  ascended  to  the  second  floor. 

It  was  a  large  double  house  in  which  he  found  himself,  with  a 
broad  hall  running  through  the  center,  while  doors  opened  into 
rooms  on  either  side. 

The  detective  was  stealing  noiselessly  along  through  this 
broad  hall  on  the  second  floor,  when  his  keen  ears  detected  the 
sound  of  human  voices,  and  a  thrill  of  delight  came  over  him  as 
he  recognized  that  one  of  the  speakers  was  a  female. 

It  was  with  brightly  gleaming  eyes  and  a  palpitating  heart 
that  our  hero  halted  in  front  of  the  door  of  the  room  from  whence 
came  the  sound  of  voices. 

A  moment  he  listened,  and  his  heart  beat  faster,  and  the  bright 
look  in  his  eyes  increased  its  glare. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Lucy  Bridges  that  he  heard  as  he  listened 
with  strained  ears  at  the  keyhole. 

At  the  moment  our  hero  first  heard  the  voices  it  was  the  female 
who  was  speaking,  and  immediately  afterward  he  heard  a  man's 
voice,  and  recognized  it  as  Arteaga's. 

He  had  struck  the  right  trail,  and  had  run  his  game  to  earth. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  133 

The  detective  did  not  rush  right  into  the  room,  and,  stage- 
hero-like,  throw  out  his  arms  and  cry,  "Come,  rescued  dear, 
to  this  bosom!"  on  the  contrary,  like  a  mouse,  he  waited  at  the 
door  all  a-quiver  and  listened.  He  heard  Arteaga  say : 

"I  am  not  a  bad  man.  lama  gentleman;  chance  brought 
you  across  my  path,  and  from  that  moment  I  have  ceased  to  be 
master  of  my  own  actions.  I  love  you  as  only  a  man  can  love 
who  is  of  my  race." 

"  It  is  useless  for  you  to  plead.  I  can  never  listen  to  your 
suit.  How  could  I  love  a  man  who  had  slain  my  father?" 

"My  dear  girl,  your  father  is  alive  and  well  at  this  moment; 
and  the  moment  you  are  my  wife  I  will  take  you  to  his  arms." 

"  I  will  never  become  your  wife." 

"Ah!  yes,  you  will;  I  am  a  man  who  has  never  had  his  will 
opposed.  I  am  the  owner  of  a  thousand  slaves  on  my  planta 
tions  in  Cuba.  I  am  king,  and  you  shall  be  my  queen." 

"Never!" 

"I  have  all  my  arrangements  made  to  transport  you  to  my  na 
tive  isle,  and  now  the  only  question  is,  will  you  go  as  my  wife, 
or  shall  the  ceremony  be  delayed  until  we  reach  Cuba?" 

"I  will  never  go!  I  am  satisfied  that  Heaven  will  interfere 
to  rescue  me  from  this  fearful  peril. " 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  girl,"  was  the  whispered  comment  of 
the  detective  listening  at  the  door. 


CHAPTEE  XLI. 

AN  EVENTFUL   MOMENT. 

It  was  evident  to  the  detective,  from  what  he  had  overheard, 
that  Arteaga  had  not  used  violence  toward  his  captive. 

The  Spaniard,    from  motives  of   policy,  had  relied  entirely 
upon  persuasion  in  pressing  his  uncouth  love-suit. 

While  cfur  hero  still  tystened  the  bronzed  lover  changed  his 
tactics.  .     « 

'  You  scorn  me,  Lucy  Bridges?"  he  said. 

'I  do!" 

'  Do  you  know  that  you  are  absolutely  in  my  power?" 

'No." 

'  It  is  as  well  for  you  to  know  that  such  is  the  case. " 

'I  am  under  the  protection  of  Heaven!"  rejoined  the  girl  in 
an  assured  tone. 

"  Heaven  can't  do  much  in  your  behalf  at  the  present  moment 
should  I  resolve  to  take  advantage  of  your  helplessness." 

"I  will  still  trust  that  in  due  season  I  shall  bo  delivered  out 
of  vour  hands." 


134  MACON  MOORE, 

"  We  will  not  prolong  this  talk.  I  demand  from  you  a  pro 
mise  to  become  my  wife;  refuse,  and  ere  I  leave  tliis  room  you 
shall  be  '  wedded,  but  no  wife.'  " 

There  was  a  baleful  gleam  in  the  Spaniard's  eyes  while  he 
spoke,  proving  that  his  strange  words  had  a  sinister  meaning. 

"  Never  will  I  promise  to  become  your  wife!" 

"One  more  refusal  will  prove  your  last  opportunity!"  And 
as  Arteaga  spoke  he  drew  a  step  nearer  to  the  lovely  girl,  who 
stood  before  him  with  the  tear-inarks  marring  the  beauty  of  her 
face. 

"I  will  refuse  till  I  am  dead!" 

The  man  advanced  still  nearer,  when  the  girl  exclaimed: 

"  Come  not  nearer  to  me  or  I  shall  scream  for  help!" 

"You  may  scream,  girl,  but  there  is  none  to  come  to  your 
help.  There  is  no  help  for  you  in  heaven  or  the  other  place  at 
this  moment.  You  are  mine!  mine!  mine!" 

As  the  man  repeated  the  word  "mine!"  he  emphasized  each 
utterance  of  the  word. 

"I  am  not  yours!  I  never  will  be!  and  I  call  upon  Heaven  to 
save  me  from  your  hateful  power!" 

"Call  again!  Call  louder!  Heaven  is  a  long  way  off,  yon 
know!"  sneered  the  Spaniard,  as  a  bitter  leer  settled  upon  his 
dark  face. 

"  I  have  called,  and  one  appeal  is  enough." 

"We  will  see!"  exclaimed  the  Spaniard,  and  he  suddenly 
leaped  forward,  and  ere  Lucy  divined  his  intentions  he  had 
seized  her  in  his  frenzied  embrace. 

Once  more  the  girl  screamed,  "  Heaven!  save  me!"  The  door 
opened,  and  Leonard  Bridges,  the  gray-haired  father  of  Arte- 
aga's  victim,  entered  the  room. 

The  Spaniard  unwound  his  arms  from  the  captive  and  fell 
back,  a  lurid  light  scintillating  in  his  eyes. 

The  wretch  at  the  moment  veritably  believed  that  from  Heaven 
itself  had  come  a  rescuer. 

Arteaga  had  seen  the  old  clergyman  beaten  and  thrown  as  a 
dead  man  over  into  the  ditch,  and  when  he  thus  strangely  and 
suddenly  appeared  in  the  room  it  was  to  him  like  an  apparition. 

Lucy  Bridges  threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  father,  and 
with  a  glad  cry  commenced  kissing  his  mouth  and  cheeks. 

Poor  Macon  Moore!  this  display  of  affection  was  a  contingency 
in  the  assumption  of  his  disguise  that  he  had  not  provided  for. 
It  was  delightful  enough  to  be  thus  kissed  by  such  a  ravishingly 
beautiful  girl,  but  he  feared  the  final  denouement. 

A  partial  denouement  caine  sooner  than  the  disguised  detec 
tive  anticipated. 

The  detective  had  been  so  taken  by  surprise  that  lie  did  not 
respond  as  a  father  should  have  responded  under  the  circum- 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  135 

stances  to  the  embraces  of  a  long-lost  daughter.  The  detective 
simply  submitted  to  be  embraced,  and  did  not  clasp  the  fair  girl  in 
his  arms  and  joy  over  her. 

The  sensitive  girl  discovered  this  lack  in  an  instant,  and  would 
have  recoiled  from  him  with  an  ejaculation  upon  her  lips  had 
not  our  hero  discovered  her  intention  from  her  startled  eyes,  and 
at  once  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  while  pretending  to  be 
kissing  her,  managed  to  whisper: 

"  On  your  life  do  not  betray  me!  I  am  here  to  save  you  from 
that  fiend!" 

There  had  been  one  other  party  present  in  that  room  at  that 
thrillingly  eventful  moment  who  had  been  undeceived. 

As  stated,  Arteaga  had  looked  upon  the  appearance  of  the  old 
clergyman  as  a  sulphurous  visitant  from  the  grave,  but  when  he 
witnessed  the  embraces  that  were  exchanged,  and  heard  the  re 
sounding  kisses,  he  knew  that  the  latter  were  imprinted  upon  no 
fleshless  cheek. 

The  Spaniard,  like  Pedro,  did  not  stop  to  measure  the  mystery 
involved  in  the  fact  that  the  clergyman  bore  no  signs  of  the  ter 
rible  beating  he  had  received.  He  only  looked  upon  the  intru 
ding  father  as  a  feeble  old  man,  easily  disposed  of  when  worst 
came  to  worst. 

As  stated,  having  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his  first  sus 
picion  that  the  intruder  was  a  ghost,  Arteaga  was  perfectly 
cool. 

He  did  not  seek  to  interrupt  the  embraces  exchanged  between 
father  and  daughter. 

Lucy  Bridges,  although  a  parson's  daughter,  was  a  hot- 
blooded,  high-spirited  Southern  damsel,  and  as  courageous  as 
the  majority  of  the  lovely  girls  born  south  of  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line.  She  was  also  keen-witted  and  ready  in  perception,  and 
the  moment  Macon  Moore  whispered  the  strangely  suggestive 
words  in  .her  ear  she  became  his  ally  in  aid  of  her  own  rescue. 

She  commenced  to  enfbrace  him,  and  kissed  him  most  filially, 
and  poured  from  her  lovely  lips  many  loving  and  endearing 
utterances. 

For  once  the  iron-nerved  detective  was  over-matched.  He 
trembled  like  a  criminal  arrested  on  a  charge  of  false  pretenses. 

He  enjoyed  all  these  endearments  coming  from  such  a  su 
premely  lovely  being,  but  knew  that  they  were  but  the  hollow 
flashings  of  a  forced  merry-maker. 

As  Arteaga  offered  no  interference,  the  detective  was  reluctant 
to  run  down  the  curtain  on  this  little  pathetic  episode  in  the  ter 
rible  life-drama  that  he  was  enacting;  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
ready  to  receive  all  the  endearments  that  might  come  along.  He 
was  simply  charmed  while  trembling  in  that  fair  girl's  charming 
embrace. 


136  MACON  MOORE, 

At  length,  however,  it  became  necessary  to  proceed  with  the 
play,  and  with  the  well-assumed  air  of  a  stern  and  indignant 
parent,  the  detective  unfolded  the  fair  girl's  arms  from  around 
his  neck,  and  placing  her  on  one  side,  fixed  his  flashing  eyes  on 
the  Spaniard,  and  demanded : 

"Villain!  how  is  it  I  find  my  child  here  in  your  power?" 
"Old  man,  I  love  your  daughter;   my  act  has  been  a  simple 
elopement." 

"  Tis  false!     My  child  would  never  have  eloped  with  such  a 

bronze-faced  half as  you!" 

"  Be  careful,  old  man;  I  am  not  here* to  listen  to  insults!" 
"  But  I  am  here  to  secure  my  child  from  your  custody!" 


CHAPTEE  XLII. 

THROWING  OFF  THE  DISG1JESJE. 

"Don't  say  or  attempt  anything  rash,  old  man,"  said  Arteaga. 

"You  villain!  you  shall  pay  the  penalty  of  this  outrage!" 

"  Listen  to  me;    I  have  a  proposition  to  make." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  listen  to  any  proposition." 

"But  you  must!" 

"  No,  no,  father!     Do  not  let  us  remain  here  a  moment." 

"We  will  not,  my  child.  Come,"  returned  the  pretended 
father. 

"  Rev.  Leonard  Bridges,  you  came  into  my  house  voluntarily, 
did  you  not?"  exclaimed  the  Spaniard. 

"I  did." 

" I  did  not  invite  you  here." 

"  I  needed  no  invitation.  I  knew  that  my  child  was  a  captive 
in  this  house,  and  I  rushed  in  to  bear  her  from  your  grasp." 

"  You  had  no  difficulty  in  entering?" 

"  None  whatever. " 

"Well,  you  will  have  a  little  trouble  in  getting  out  iinlessyou 
receive  my  consent." 

"You  dare  not  restrain  me  from  leaving  this  house." 

"I  dared  to  steal  your  daughter,  did  I  not?" 

"Yes,  you  did.  and  you  shall  pay  the  penalty." 

"  If  I  dared  to  steal  her,  I  reckon  I  will  dare  to  keep  her,  and 
I  will  unless  you  listen  to  a  proposition  I  have  to  make." 

"Suppose  I  listen  to  your  proposition?" 

"Possibly,  though  you  may  reject  it,  I  might  still  consent  to 
your  safe  conduct  from  the  house." 

"  I  will  listen  to  yonr  proposition." 

"  I  love  your  daughter." 

"And  if  she  is  a  true  child  of  her  father  she  detests  you!" 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  137 

"I  do,  father!"  ejaculated  Lucy. 

Arteaga  paid  no  attention  to  the  interruptions,  but  continuing, 
said: 

"I  am  a  rich  man — a  wondrously  rich  man!" 

"  Villain!  every  word  you  utter  is  an  insult  to  a  gentleman!" 

"  I  will  settle  live  hundred  thousand  dollars  on  your  daughter 
to  own  in  her  own  right  the  moment  she  promises  to  become  my 
wife — a  promise  is  sufficient." 

"  Scoundrel!  I  spit  on  you  and  your  offer." 

"You  do?" 

"I  do." 

Arteaga's  face  became  livid  with  rage  and  fury  as  he  exclaimed : 

"  Then  you  shall  only  leave  this  house  a  corpse,  and  your 
daughter  shall  remain,  and  not  to  be  my  wife. " 

The  pretended  father  laughed  and  said  to  Lucy: 

"  Come,  child,  it  is  time  for  us  to  go!" 

Arteaga  drew  a  bowie-knife,  and,  leaping  across  the  room,  in 
tercepted  the  pair  at  the  door. 

"  Behold,  old  man,  you  are  at  my  mercy!" 

An  instant  later  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  covered  Arteaga's  heart, 
and  a  stern  voice  exclaimed : 

"  Drop  that  knife,  assassin!" 

Arteaga  was  too  greatly  amazed  to  comprehend  at  that  moment 
the  change  that  had  come  over  the  aspect  of  affairs. 

He  had  not  looked  for  such  a  thing  as  the  display  of  a  pistol 
in  the  hands  of  the  minister.  He  had  measured  the  old  man  as 
a  half-crazed  old  parent,  who  would  not  know  enough  to  guard 
against  roguery  by  any  precautions. 

At  length,  as  his  eye  settled  on  the  gleaming  barrel  of  the  well- 
aimed  pistol,  and  as  he  also  noted  the  steady  gleam  in  the  eye  of 
the  holder  of  that  weapon,  he  began  to  realize  that  he  had  a 
stronger  game  to  play  than  he  had  anticipated. 

He  took  the  matter  coolly,  however.  He  was  a  man  of  nerve 
under  some  circumstances,  and  instead  of  dropping  his  knife, 
laughed  in  a  pleasant  manner. 

"Drop  that  knife!"  again  came  the  command. 

"Why,  you  old  lunatic,  one  stamp  of  my  foot  will  bring  a 
dozen  men  into  this  room." 

"  Not  men — assassins!"  commented  the  pretended  minister. 

"  Well,  assassins!" 

"And  yon  think  you  have  me  at  a  disadvantage?" 

Aerain  Artonga  laughed  as  he  said,  in  a  pleasant  tone: 

"Yon  had  butter  listen  to  my  original  proposition." 

"I  will  shoot  you  dead  in  your  tracks  first." 

"  You  know  what  tlio  alternative  is — accept,  or  never  leave 
this  house  alive."  said  Arteaga. 

"It  is  your  life  that  is  in  peril,  not  mine." 


138  MACON  MOORE. 

"  I  tell  you  one  stamp  of  my  foot  will  bring  a  dozen  assassins 
into  this  room." 

"And  one  pull  of  my  hand  will  change  Leonard  Bridys  into 
MU-OII  Moo/-!,' !''  responded  our  hero,  and,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word,  he  removed  his  wig  and  stood  revealed  as  the  wom.b'rful 
detective. 

The  knife  fell  from  the  palsied  grasp  of  Arteaga. 

That  dreaded  name  was  a  greater  terror  to  him  than  would 
have  been  the  muzzles  of  a  dozen  pistols  aimed  at  his  heart  in  the 
hands  of  as  many  ordinary  men. 

It  had  been  a  sort  of  personal  pride  that  had  caused  our  hero 
to  unmask. 

The  first  time  his  eyes  had  fallen  upon  Lucy  Bridges  strange 
emotions  had  been  stirred,  and  during  the  weeks  that  the  girl 
had  been  missing  her  lovely  form  had  been  ever  present  before 
his  charmed  imagination. 

Again,  upon  beholding  her,  all  these  strange  emotions  were 
revived,  and  the  pressure  of  her  warm,  lovely  lips  upon  his  cheek 
had  sent  a  thrill  through  him  that  would  agitate  him  the  remain 
der  of  his  days. 

He  knew  not  what  accident  might  occur,  and  he  desired  to  en 
joy  surely  the  one  triumph,  though  it  might  be  brief,  of  having 
her  know  who  the  faithful  man  was  who  had  trailed  down  her 
enemy  to  effect  her  rescue. 

There  was  a  mirror  in  the  room,  and  the  lovely  face  of  the  fair 
Lucy  was  reflected  in  the  glass  at  the  moment  our  hero  un 
masked. 

The  latter  saw  the  change  that  came  over  the  beautiful  girl's 
face.  He  noted  the  tinge  that  came  to  her  cheek,  the  brightness 
to  her  eyes,  and  expression  of  triumph  to  the  whole  face  upon 
hearing  the  name  of  her  champion. 

The  faithful  glass  into  which  our  hero  had  glanced  revealed 
the  above  signs. 

A  new  hope  arose  in  Macon  Moore's  heart,  and  he  had  a  mo 
tive  now  to  rescue  the  girl  that  would  lead  him  to  iace  death  a 
thousand  times  in  her  behalf. 


CHAPTER    XLIH 

ANOTHER  VICTORY   FOB   THE   DETECTIVE. 

As  stated,  at  the  mention  of  the  name  Macon  Moore,  the  knife 
fell  from  the  nerveless  grasp  of  Artoaga. 

"Now,  dog!  stamp  your  foot  if  you  dare,  and  you  sign  your 
own  death-warrant!"  snid  our  hero. 

The  Spaniard  gazed  with  leaden  stare  at  the  man  who  ap 
peared  as  his  Nemesis. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.      .  13D 

There  was  no  human  presence  on  earth  that  the  Spaniard 
feared  as  he  did  the  detective,  the  ever-present  scourge  who  al 
ways  appeared  to  be  on  hand  just  in  time  when  villainy  was  to 
be  foiled. 

It  is  hard  to  tell  what  might  have  been  the  result,  as  matters 
stood,  had  not  a  singular  incident  occurred  opportunely  to  open 
a  series  of  startling  events. 

The  four  Spaniards,  who  had  been  frightened  from  the  house 
by  the  supposed  appearance  of  the  ghost,  had  run  only  a 
short  distance  when  they  came  to  a  halt  and  held  a  few  mo 
ments'  consultation. 

As  their  minds  became  familiarized  with  the  idea  of  the  pre 
sence  they  had  seen  their  courage  returned. 

One  of  them  remarked,  with  a  curse: 

"We've  been  fooled!" 

Another  of  the  party  expressed  the  same  idea,  and,  after  a 
moment  the  four  men  returned  toward  the  house. 

They  advanced  very  cautiously,  and  kept  casting  furtive  glances 
around  in  every  direction,  and  had  the  disguised  detective  ap 
peared  again  at  that  moment  they  would  have  fled  once  more  lu 
wild  dismay. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  one  of  their  number,  bolder  than  his 
companions,  ascended  the  steps  of  the  porch  and  advanced  to 
ward  the  window  of  the  room  they  had  occupied  at  the  moment 
when  the  apparition  first  presented  itself. 

The  fellow  glanced  into  the  room,  and  seeing  nothing,  mus 
tered  sufficient  courage  to  raise  the  remains  of  the  shattered 
sash  and  enter.  He  evidently  felt  pretty  shaky,  but  seeing  no 
thing,  returned  to  the  window  and  beckoned  to  his  companions 
to  enter. 

All  hands  were  once  more  in  the  room,  and  helped  themselves 
to  a  good.-drink  out  of  ttye  bottle,  when  one  of  them  said: 

4 'We  ought  to  tell  Signer  Arteaga  what  it  was  we  saw." 

A  second  man  remarked : 

"  He  may  curse  us  as  fools  for  running  away." 

The  first  man  again  remarked : 

"That  is  just  the  reason  we  ought  to  notify  him.  It  may  not 
have  been  a  ghost,  and  we  need  not  own  up  that  we  ran  away, 
but  we  will  claim  we  ran  after  the  ghost." 

After  a  number  of  opinions  pro  and  con.  it  was  decided  to  go 
up  to  Arteaga's  room  and  tell  him  as  to  what  they  had  seen. 

The  fellows  took  one  more  drink,  and  started  in  a  body  up 
the  stairs. 

We  stated  in  a  former  paragraph  that  a  singular  interruption 
had  occurred  to  disturb  the  tableau  that  was  presented  in  the 
room. 

Arteaga  stood  leaning  with  his  back  against  the  door  leading 


140  MACON  MOORE, 

from  the  room.  The  man  was  a  picture  of  terror,  while  over 
against  him  stood  the  detective  with  the  leveled  revolver. 

Mac-oil  Moore  had  said,  "Step  aside  from  that  door!"  and 
Arteaga  had  stood  gazing  at  him,  seemingly  so  paralyzed  a.s  to 
be  unable  to  obey. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  singular  incident  alluded  to 
occurred.  The  door  suddenly  opened,  and  Arteaga  fell  back 
ward  into  the  arms  of  the  four  men  who  hail  come  stealthily  up 
the  stairs  to  apprise  him  as  to  what  they  had  seen. 

The  door  opened  outward,  and  thus  the  singular  denouement. 

A  more  startling  tableau  was  presented  than  before. 

An  instant  the  party  stood  and  gazed  at  each  other  aghast. 

Macon  Moore  was  the  tirst  to  recover  his  head. 

Turning  to  Lucy,  he  whispered  a  few  hurried  words  in  her  ear. 

The  ready-witted  girl  was  quick  to  understand  and  obey. 

She  had  been  standing  just  behind  our  hero  and  in  range  of 
any  pistol-shots  that  might  be  sent  through  the  door. 

That  there  was  to  be  a  scrimmage  the  detective  felt  assured,  and 
he  was  a  man  who  knew  how  to  take  advantage  of  every  situation. 

The  moment  Arteaga  found  himself  backward  in  the  arms  of 
his  minions,  he  crawled  out  of  range,  and  then  shouted: 

"Kill  him!  kuii'e  him!  A  thousand  doubloons  when  he's 
dead!" 

The  words  had  just  left  the  Spaniard's  mouth  when  the  detec 
tive  blazed  away. 

Bang!  bang!  spoke  his  revolver. 

Our  hero  had  the  inside  track  in  the  opening  of  the  scrim 
mage,  from  the  fact  that  he  had  his  pistol  at  an  aim  at  the  mo 
ment  Arteaga  had  fallen  through  the  door. 

The  Spaniards  were  compelled  to  draw,  and  by  the  time  their 
weapons  were  out  one  of  their  number  had  dropped,  and  was 
ready  to  play  ghost  some  day,  and  a  second  had  screamed  in 
agony  as  a  ball  pierced  his  arm. 

Arteaga  had  not  remained  to  command  his  men.  At  the  sound 
of  the  first  discharge  he  had  shot  down  the  stairs  far  out  of 
range. 

Bang!  bang!  came  an  answering  shot. 

The  Spaniards  had  been  in  the  maze  of  a  surprise  from  the 
start  and  fired  at  random,  while  the  cool-headed  detective  had 
fired  with  deadly  aim  and  effect. 

Another  man  Ml  dead,  and  the  last  of  the  four  ran  away  to 
look  for  Artoaga  to  get  fresh  orders. 

By  his  daring  promptness  and  skill  as  a  marksman  the  detec 
tive  had  won  a  quick  victory. 

Turning  to  Lucy,  he  said: 

"My  dear  girl,  now  is  our  opportunity." 

"My  father?"  asked  Lucy. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  141 

"Your  father  is  alive  and  well." 

"When  did  you  see  him  last?" 

"Since  sundown." 

The  girl  had  not  as  yet  seen  the  effect  of  our  hero's  shots. 

She  had  stepped  out  of  range  and  had  heard  the  shots  and 
seen  puff's  of  smoke. 

She  had  often  heard  pistol-shots  before,  but  had  never  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  dead  struck  down  without  a  mo 
ment's  warning. 

"Courage,  my  dear  girl,"  said  our  hero,  as  he  drew  her 
toward  the  door  of  the  room. 

Macon  Moore  knew  the  advantage  of  an  immediate  departure, 
but  an  unexpected  incident  caused  a  fatal  delay. 

As  Lucy  came  to  the  open  door  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  dis 
torted  and  ghastly  faces  of  the  two  Spaniards  who  had  fallen 
dead.  The  sight  was  too  much  for  the  tender-hearted  girl,  and 
she  fainted  away  in  our  hero's  arms. 


CHAPTEE  XLIV. 

THE    SECEET    PASSAGE. 

Macon  Moore  was  not  a  profane  man,  but  in  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  an  exclamation  akin  to  an  oath  fell  from  his  lips. 

Time  to  him  was  precious.  His  own  life,  and  more  than  that 
— the  life  of  Lucy  depended  upon  his  getting  out  of  that  house. 

At  any  moment  some  of  the  riders  might  reach  there.  It  was 
a  rendezvous,  and  it  was  midnight,  the  hour  when  ghosts  and 
goblins  forsake  their  graves,  and  thieves  and  assassins  their  sun 
light  haunts. 

Our  hei-o  was  compelled  to  decide  upon  his  course  quickly. 
The  question  was,  should  he  stop  to  revive  the  lovely  girl  rest 
ing  insensible  in  his  arms,  or  should  he  risk  her  voluntary  re 
vival  and  dash  with  her  from  the  house? 

He  decided  upon,  tire  latter  course,  and  stepping  over  the  dead 
bodies  of  the  Spaniards,  passed  along  the  hall  and  started  to  de 
scend  the  stairs,  when  peril  in  the  most  appalling  form  was  pre 
sented. 

The  riders  had  come;  a  dozen  armed  men  were  crowding  into 
the  lower  hall,  and  retreat  was  cut  off. 

The  detective  moved  back  from  the  stairs,  when  a  new  peril 
was  encountered.  Volumes  of  smoke  were  issuing  from  the 
room  where  the  tragedy  described  above  had  transpired. 

The  house  was  on  fire.  One  of  the  Spaniards  had  used  an 
old-fashioned,  large-bore,  muzzle-loading  pistol,  and  a  burning 
•  "  wad  "  had  lodged  in  some  inflammable  material  in  the  room. 

The  detective  for  once  stood  appalled. 


142  MACON  MOORE, 

It  was  the  first  time  in  all  his  life  that  hope — all  hope — abso 
lutely  deserted  him. 

Had  he  been  alone  he  would  not  have  despaired.  He  could 
have  leaped  upon  the  porch,  and  taken  his  chances  of  a  running 
combat  with  his  foes. 

Never  before  had  Macon  Moore  stood  irresolute  in  the  pre 
sence  of  peril. 

He  rushed  to  the  door  of  the  room,  still  carrying  the  insensi 
ble  girl  in  his  arms. 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  attempt  to  stay  the  fire.  The 
room  was  all  ablaze,  and  the  hall  was  fast  filling  with  smoke. 

The  detective  was  compelled  to  open  the  door  of  a  room  on 
the  same  floor,  where  the  smoke  had  not  penetrated.  It  was  be 
coming  so  dense  in  the  hall  that  in  a  few  minutes  he  would  have 
been  suffocated. 

He  dashed  into  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

At  the  same  instant  he  heard  a  great  noise  in  the  hall. 

The  riders  had  attempted  to  ascend  the  stairs,  but  had  been 
driven  back  by  the  smoke. 

The  cry  of  "Fire!"  had  been  raised. 

Macon  Moore  knew  that  he  would  enjoy  but  a  few  moments' 
respite. 

The  smoke  had  not  yet  penetrated  the  room  where  he  had 
sought  refuge,  but  the  house  was  old,  would  burn  like  tinder, 
ami  soon  the  whole  fabric  would  be  a  blazing  mass. 

Under  circumstances  as  above,  a  world  of  terrible  incidents 
are  possible  of  occurrence  within  a  few  moments  of  time. 

Lucy  had  shown  signs  of  revival.  Our  hero  rushed  to  a  water- 
pitc-her  in  the  room  and  bathed  her  brow.  Her  eyes  opened  and 
her  lips  parted,  and  there  came  the  inquiry: 

"  What  has  happened?" 

Before  .the  detective  answered,  there  came  a  fearful  shriek. 

The  detective  recognized  the  voice  of  Artea<?a. 

The  Spaniard  had  ascended  to  the  head  of  the  stairway  and 
called  out: 

"  She  is  there!  she  is  there!  A  hundred  thousand  dollars  to 
the  man  who  will  save  the  girl!" 

Alas!  he  could  not  repeat  his  offer  from  the  point  where  it  was 
first  made. 

It  was  a  terrible  moment;  even  the  dauntless  Macon  Moore 
trembled  with  fear.  It  was  not  fear  for  himself,  but  terror  in 
the  fare  of  the  horrible  fate  that  awaited  the  fair  girl  standing 
before  him. 

He  had  explained  the  situation  to  her,  and  the  noble  creature, 
woman-like,  v/as  the  cool  T  of  the  t\vo. 

"  I  might  save  your  life,"  said  our  hero,  in  a  low,  sad  tone. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  143 

"  And  forfeit  your  own!"  came  the  answer,  as  a  look  of  agony 
contorted  the  girl's  beautiful  face. 

"I  care  not  for  rny  life,  but  should  I  save  you  and  perish  my 
self,  you  would  be  at  the  mercy  of  Arteaga. " 

"I  prefer  death!"  exclaimed  the  heroic  girl.  "Death  with 
you,  great  and  noble  man  that  you  are!"  she  added. 

Death  was  already  upon  them ;  the  fire  had  burned  through 
from  the  adjoining  room,  and  smoke  was  pouring  in. 
Our  hero  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
He  saw  that  the  house  must  be  all  ablaze,  as  a  glare  of  light 
showed  him  that  the  burning  building  was  surrounded  by  a 
crowd  of  white-faced  men. 

Suddenly  Lucy  caught  his  arm  and  exclaimed,  while  coughing 
with  the  smoke  that  was  choking  her: 

'I  had  almost  forgotten.     We  can  save  ourselves  yet!" 
'  How?     Dear  girl,  speak!" 
'  There  is  a  secret  passage." 
'Where?" 

'  Which  room  are  we  in?" 

'  In  the  second  room  from  the  stairs  on  the  south  side  of  the 
hall." 

"Saved!"  cried  the  girl.  "Sound  the  wall  for  a  hollow 
space." 

The  first  blow  of  our  hero's  fist  gave  back  a  resound. 

"Eureka!  I've  found  it!"  he  shouted,  as  a  thrill  of  joy  sped 
through  his  previously  chilled  blood. 

Macon  Moore  was  just  the  man  to  ferret  out  a  secret  spring. 

It  took  him  but  a  second  to  find  it  and  slide  the  panel,  and  yet 
he  had  not  been  a  moment  too  soon.  Lucy  was  fainting  under 
the  power  of  the  smoke. 

A  staircase  had  been  revealed,  and  a  strong  current  of  cool  air 
came  rushing  into  the  room,  strong  enough  to  temporarily  drive 
back  a  portion  of  the  smoke. 

He  drew  Lucy  to  the  entrance,  and  she  revived,  and  now  at 
this  moment  our  hero  displayed  his  wondrous  presence  of 
mind. 

He  proposed  throwing  Arteaga  off  the  trail  until  the  moment 
when  the  grand  closing-in  scene  should  have  been  rung  on. 

"Lucy,"  he  said,  "  can  you  .scream?" 

"  And  betray  our  presence?"  answered  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  dear,  betray  our  presence,  and  load  those  white-faced 
devils  below  to  believe  that  we  are  perishing  in  the  flames." 

The  quick-witted  girl  caught  his  idea,  and  a  succession  of  soul- 
piproing  shrinks  sounded  amid  the  roar  of  the  flames. 

"You  did  it  well,  brave  girl.  Now  follow  me,"  exclaimed  the 
delighted  detective,  and  the  pair  descended  the  secret  stairway 


141  MACON  MOORL, 

as  the  flames  came  hissing  and  blazing  into  the  room  they  had 
left. 


CHAPTEE  XLV. 

THE   ESCATE. 

The  two  descended  until  they  reached  the  cellar  of  the  house, 
though  the  passage  continued  to  the  foundation-wall,  and  they 
proceeded  along  a  subterranean  way,  damp  and  chill,  but  well- 
ventilated  with  a  current  of  air. 

Our  hero  had  produced  his  masked  lantern  to  illumine  their 
way. 

It  was  a  strange  sight  presented  in  that  subterranean  vault. 

The  girl,  with  her  pale  but  lovely  face  clouded  with  anxiety, 
and  the  detective  holding  his  lamp  reflecting  back  on  his  own 
white  but  stern  and  set  countenance. 

The  pair  reached,  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  a  large  square 
vault,  and  a  close  examination  by  the  detective  satisfied  him  that 
it  was  an  old  disused  cistern. 

Wooden  steps  led  up  to  an  exit.  It  required  but  a  slight  ex 
ertion  of  strength  to  remove  a  wooden  covering,  and  the  broad 
expanse  of  heaven  was  revealed. 

Macon  Moore  looked  out.  On  one  side  of  him  loomed  a  build 
ing  which  he  recognized  as  the  barn,  and  three  hundred  feet 
away  was  tin;  house,  a  mass  of  flames. 

Our  hero  calculated  that  it  would  not  be  many  minutes  before 
the  whole  frame  crashed  in,  and  he  decided  to  await  the  event, 
deeming  it  risky  to  issue  forth  lest  they  might  by  accident  be 
discovered  under  the  glare  of  light. 

Half  an  hour  passed.  The  house  had  fallen,  and  its  remains 
were  but  a  pile  of  smoldering  ruins. 

Daring  the  half-hour  the  detective  had  enjoyed  a  singular  talk 
with  the  rescued  girl. 

Lucy  related  how  immediately  after  the  detective's  departure 
on  the  night  when  they  had  first  met,  the  house  had  been  visited 
by  Arteaga's  minions — a  number  of  Spaniards. 

The  girl  had  been  carried  off,  and  the  evidences  of  a  murder 
had  all  been  purposely  created  to  convey  the  impression  that  a 
murder  had  taken  place,  so  as  to  'prevent  pursuit  for  the  living. 

Arteaga  had  been  cunning  enough  to  surmise  that  the  pursuit 
of  a  corpse  would  be  less  vigilant  than  the  trailing  of  a  living 
girl  as  lovely  as  Lucy  Bridges. 

The  man  Whom  our  hero  had  encountered  had  been  left  to 
purposely  carry  out  the  idea  of  a  murder,  and  it  had  not  been 
anticipated  that  he  would  be  called  upon  to  cope  with  the  extra 
ordinary  man,  Macon  Moore. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  145 

As  our  readers  will  remember,  the  detective  had  made  an  ex 
amination  that  led  him  to  adopt  a  theory,  and  his  theory  was 
fortunately  based  upon  the  true  facts  of  the  case  as  he  read 
them. 

'A  less  practiced  man  might  have  been  deceived,  but  Macon 
Moore  was  too  old  in  his  trade  to  be  thrown  off  the  trail  by  any 
such  flimsy  devices. 

Lucy  also  stated  that  although  Arteaga  had  kept  her  a  close 
captive,  he  had  always  treated  her  in  the  most  respectful  man 
ner,  and  that  the  only  time  he  had  threatened  her  was  just  at  the 
moment  her  rescuer  had  so  wonderfully  appeared  to  protect  her. 

The  detective  would  have  stated  some  of  the  details  of  her 
father's  rescue,  but  Lucy  interrupting,  said  that  she  had  over 
heard  a  conversation  between  Arteaga  and  Pedro,  and  had  thus 
in  advance  learned  of  her  dear  father's  almost  miraculous 
escape. 

One  result  of  the  conversation  in  such  a  strange  trysting-place 
as  an  old  cistern  was  to  establish  the  fact  that  Arteaga  must 
have  started  the  original  story  against  Mr.  Bridges  in  order  to 
carry  out  his  own  designs. 

Our  readers  must  not  suppose  that  we  wish  to  convey  the  idea 
that  the  outrage  upon  the  old  clergyman  and  his  daughter  had 
attracted  no  attention.  The  good  man's  parishioners  had  held 
public  meetings  in  the  humble  little  church  building,  and  had 
called  upon  the  authorities  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  their 
pastor's  disappearance. 

Stories  of  all  kinds  were  in  circulation,  started  by  the  men 
who  were  directly  concerned  in  the  outrage. 

The  facts  are  that  society,  at  the  time  we  write,  was  in  such 
an  "upheaved"  condition  that  acts  of  outrage  were  possible 
which,  under  other  circumstances,  would  never  have  been  at 
tempted. 

As  a  plain  narrator  of  a  special  series  of  adventures,  we  have 
no  need  to  recite  all  the  measures  adopted  by  the  law  and  order 
citizens  of  Mr.  Bridges'  parish  to  bring  the  perpetrators  of  the 
outrage  to  light  anfl  justice. 

The  affair  had  gained  world-wide  celebrity,  and  the  law  offi 
cers  pretended  to  be  very  vigilant,  but  the  truth  was  they  were 
held  in  terror  by  the  organized  bands  of  law-breakers. 

The  incidents  selected  for  our  narrative  occurred  in  a  remote 
district  far  beyond  where  the  law  was  possible  of  rapid  enforce 
ment. 

To  return  to  our  narrative.  As  stated,  the  house  wherein  the 
scenes  above  described  occurred  was  a  mass  of  smoldering  ruins. 

Macon  Moore  looked  forth  from  his  strange  place  of  refuge, 
discovered  the  fact,  and  determined  that  an  opportunity  was 
presented  for  escape. 


146  MACON  MOORE, 

Lucy  had  been  hurried  from  the  burning  house  without  having 
had  an  opportunity  to  secure  any  cloaks  or  wraps.  The  detec 
tive  removed  his  own  coat  from  his  shoulders  and  threw  it  over 
the  girl. 

Like  two  guilty  beings  they  came  forth  from  the  vault,  and 
like  shadows  stole  away  beyond  the  shadow  of  light  that  shot 
forth  from  the  smoldering  ruins. 

The  detective,  when  once  beyond  the  glare,  turned  a  minute 
to  study  the  scene,  and  a  strange  scene  it  was  that  fell  under  his 
gaze. 

Groups  of  men  stood  around.  They  had  removed  their 
masks,  and  our  hero  was  enabled  to  recognize  many  of  their 
forms  and  faces,  even  at  the  distance  over  which  he  surveyed 
them. 

His  scanning  of  those  faces  was  for  future  use. 

"Come,  Lucy,"  he  said,  and  he  made  a  wide  detour  around 
the  scene  of  his  recent  startling  adventure. 

Having  arrived  at  the  spot  where  he  had  tethered  his  horse, 
he  told  Lucy  to  await  his  return. 

The  daring  detective  had  resolved  to  steal  a  horse,  or,  as  he 
muttered  to  himself,  "  borrow  one  for  the  use  of  a  lady." 

None  but  a  man  of  his  iron  nerve  would  have  dared  to  attempt 
such  a  bold  deed  under  all  the  circumstances. 

Macon  Moore  went  to  the  spot  where  a  number  of  horses  were 
tied,  and  selecting  one,  loosed  him,  and  was  about  leading  him 
away,  when  suddenly  a  man  confronted  him  with  a  drawn 
revolver,  and  challenged: 

"  Hold  on,  neighbor!     Where  are  you  going  with  that  horse?" 


CHAPTEE  XLVL 
ITTOT'S  DISAPPEARANCE. 

When  Macon  Moore  heard  the  salutation,  "  Hello,  neighbor, 
where  are  you  going  with  that  horse?"  he  replied  by  making  a 
signal  well  known  among  the  riders. 

It  was  lucky  for  him  that  he  had  the  signal  ready  for  a  reply, 
as  the  man  had  a  "dead bead  "  on  him  when  giving  the  challenge. 

Upon  hearing  the  signal  the  man  lowered  his  pistol,  and 
approaching  the  detective,  said: 

"I  reckon  I'll  j.ust  take  a  squint  at  your  face,  stranger." 

When  the  man  had  approached  to  within  two  feet,  the  detec 
tive  suddenly  reached  forth,  and  dealt  him  a  blow  that  sent  him 
Rl.a.^'i'oring  in  among  a  number  of  horses.  The  man  fell  among 
them  so  suddenly  the  horses  became  frightened,  and  commenced 
to  rear,  and  kick,  and  snort  in  the  most  violent  manner. 

Macon  Moore  had  just  time  to  secure  again  the  horse  he  had 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  147 

selected,  when  he  heard  a  number  of  the  riders  coming  toward 
him. 

Darkness  favored  him,  and  he  got  away  unobserved,  and  a  few 
moments  later  the  great  detective  and  the  rescued  girl  were 
riding  swiftly  away. 

Ere  dawn  the  pair  had  reached  the  house  where,  as  related  in 
a  former  chapter,  Mr.  Bridges  had  found  a  refuge  on  the  night 
of  his  rescue  from  the  hands  of  the  riders. 

The  owner  of  the  house  was  an  old  friend  of  the  dominie,  and 
the  latter  was  always  a  welcome  visitor,  as  he  had  the  warm 
sympathy  of  his  friend  in  his  hour  of  trial  and  affliction. 

An  exciting  incident,  however,  occurred  just  before  the  detec 
tive  and  his  fair  companion  reached  the  house  where  they  were 
to  find  shelter. 

They  had  given  up  all  idea  of  pursuit,  and  were  riding 
leisurely  along,  indulging  in  a  sweet  converse — sweet  at  least  to 
the  gallant  but  rugged  detective — when  the  latter's  quick  ear 
detected  the  tread  of  horses'  feet  in  the  rear. 

Had  our  hero  been  alone  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  would  have 
caused  him  but  little  concern.  The  presence  of  Lucy,  however, 
occasioned  him  considerable  anxiety. 

The  beautiful  girl  had  ridden  a  long  distance  through  the 
night,  and  it  seemed  hard  thus  at  the  last  moment  to  be  over 
taken. 

Our  hero,  however,  was  quick  to  act.  He  ordered  his  com 
panion  to  dismount,  and  leaping  from  his  own  horse  he  started 
the  two  animals  at  a  gallop  along  the  road,  while  he  led  Lucy 
into  the  thicket  bordering  the  path. 

Once  under  cover  the  detective  listened  to  hear  the  riders  start 
at  full  run  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  horses,  but  instead  he  dis 
covered  that  the  party  had  come  to  a  halt. 

The  latter  fact  was  stiggestive  of  increased  peril. 

The  chances  were  that  his  ruse  had  been  discovered,  and  the 
pursuers  were  aboub  to  strike  a  foot-trail. 

Turning  to  the  fair  girl  who  stood  beside  him  with  a  pale  and 
anxious  face,  her  eyes  gleaming  like  two  stars,  he  said: 

"  Lucy,  you  must  steal  away." 

"We  are  found?"  said  the  girl. 

' '  I  fear  our  flight  has  been  discovered,  and  that  we  are  fol 
lowed." 

"  And  you  would  drive  me  from  your  side  at  this  moment  of 
peril?" 

"Certainly." 

"You  forget  I  am  a  Southern  girl,  and  although  a  clergyman's 
daughter,  I  am  familiar  with  the  use  of  fire-arms." 

"What  would  you  do,  child?" 


148  MACON  MOORE, 

"  I  would  stand  at  your  side  and  take  my  part  in  this  com 
bat!" 

Despite  the  peril  and  exciting  situation,  the  detective  was 
compelled  to  laugh  outright. 

"You  would  stay  here  and  fight  our  pursuers,  eh?" 

"I  would,  and  I  will." 

"But  I  cannot  permit  you  to  do  so." 

"You  cannot  prevent  me." 

"Would  you  have  me  lose  my  life?" 

"Xo;  I  would  remain  to  aid  in  saving  both  our  lives." 

"  Your  remaining  would  not  save  yours,  and  might  cost  me 
mine." 

"How?" 

"  When  the  fight  should  come,  instead  of  giving  my  whole  at 
tention  to  the  combat,  I  would  be  compelled  to  divide  my  atten 
tion  between  you  and  our  foes." 

"You  are  a  brave  and  gallant  man." 

"lam  an  experienced  man,  and  I  can  forecast  the  result  if 
you  persist  in  remaining  at  my  side." 

"  What  would  be  the  result?" 

"I  would  be  killed,  and  you  would  fall  once  more  into  the. 
hands  of  Arteaga!" 

"  Where  shall  I  fly  to?" 

"Just  run  off  into  the  thicket  until  I  come  to  look  for  you." 

"  I  will  obey,"  said  Lucy,  and  she  glided  away. 

The  conversation  above  recorded  only  occupied  a  few  brief 
seconds  of  time,  and  at  the  very  moment  that  Lucy  glided  away 
the  sound  of  horses'  feet  was  heard  once  more. 

Macon  Mooi-e  looked  like  a  knight  of  old  as  he  stood  under 
the  starlight  against  the  dark  background  of  bush  and  trees. 

He  had  arranged  his  bowie-knife  for  ready  use,  and  held  a 
cocked  revolver  in  each  hand. 

The  man  calculated  upon  the  most  desperate  fight  he  had  ever 
had  in  all  his  life. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  tread  of  horses'  feet. 

The  detective  did  not  understand  the  fact  that  the  pursuing 
horsemen  had  halted,  and  upon  starting  again  had  not  increased 
their  speed.  They  were  riding  along  quite  leisurely,  and  as  they 
drew  nearer  their  voices  could  be  plainly  heard. 

A  thrill  shot  through  the  brave  man's  heart  as  he  thought  he 
recognized  the  voices  of  two  of  the  horsemen. 

They  were  almost  abreast  of  him,  when  he  heard  his  own  name 
pronounced,  and  an  instant  later  he  stepped  out  from  his  hiding- 
place  and  challenged  them. 

Half  a  dozen  cocked  revolvers  were  aimed  at  Macon  Moore,  as 
one  of  the  horsemen  demanded : 

"Who  are  you?" 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  149 

"A  friend." 

Then  came  a  voice,  exclaiming: 
"Thank  Heaven!  it'd  Macon  Moore!" 

The  revolvers  were  lowered  in  an  instant,  and  Dominie 
Bridges,  dismounting  from  his  horse,  rushed  to  the  side  of  our 
hero. 

'What  news?"  demanded  the  old  man,  in  an  agitated  voice. 
'Good  news!" 
'My  child?" 
'  Your  child  is  safe ! 
'  Saved  from  that  fiend?" 
'Yes." 

'Where  is  she?" 
'Not  far  off." 

'Hero  of  all  the  world's  heroes!  tell  me  where  is  my  child?" 
'  Hide  on  to  the  house  of  your  friend  and  I  will  bring  her 
there." 

The  old  clergyman  remounted  his  horse  and  rode  away,  fol 
lowed  by  the  company. 

Macon  Moore  was  greatly  relieved.     The  party  he  had  met,  in 
stead  of  proving  to  be  pursuers,  was  composed  of  friends,  among 
whom  was  the  man  he  had  rescued,  Selton  Reeves. 
Our  hero  dashed  into  the  bush  to  find  Lucy. 
He  had  calculated  to  discover  her  near  by,  but,  alas!   after 
traveling  for  some  distance  he  could  not  find  her. 


CHAPTEE   XLVH 


The  detective  began  »to  feel  alarmed.  Not  more  than  ten 
minutes,  had  passed  since  the  moment  she  had  left  him,  and  he 
had  told  her  to  merely  hide  in  the  bush. 

Calling  her  name,  Re  listened  for  a  response,  but  none  came. 

"  I  wonder  where  she  could  have  gone?"  he  muttered,  and  at 
the  same  moment  he  remembered  that  there  was  a  rapid  sti-eam 
of  water  a  short  way  up,  and  the  path  through  the  bushes  termi 
nated  abruptly  on  the  bank  of  the  stream. 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  whispered  the  detective,  "that  the  fair 
girl  has  wandered  to  the  stream  and  walked  right  in  without  one 
word  of  warning?" 

The  thought  filled  him  with  intense  alarm,  and,  with  a  fright 
ened  exclamation,  he  ran  toward  the  stream. 

Upon  reaching  the  \yater  he  discovered  that  the  stream  was 
very  low,  and  that  had  she  stepped  in  it  would  have  been  with 
out  danger. 


150  MACON  MOORE, 

Retracing  his  steps,  our  hero  began  a  search  for  the  missing 
girl's  trail. 

It  seemed  hard  to  him  that  after  having  rescued  her  through 
such  an  ordeal  of  peril,  he  should  lose  sight  of  her  again. 

It  is  a  hard  matter  to  strike  a  trail  at  night,  unless  certain  con 
ditions  of  weather  and  soil  are  favorable,  and  the  detective  had 
neither  of  these  favorable  conditions  to  aid  him.  He  was  not  dis 
couraged,  however,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  his  masked  lan 
tern,  he  commenced  the  search. 

Fortune  favored  him  at  last,  and  he  discovered  a  sign  that  pave 
him  an  inkling  as  to  the  direction  Lucy  had  followed.  Having 
once  struck  the  trail  he  had  little  difficulty  in  holding  it. 

The  trail  did  not  lead  to  the  river,  but  in  an  opposite  direc 
tion,  and  the  detective  followed  it  until  he  made  a  most  startling 
discovery. 

It  became  a  double  trail  for  a  short  distance,,  and  the  second 
trail  was  that  of  a  man. 

Lucy  had  evidently  met  a  friend  or  a  foe,  and  the  chances 
were  that  it  was  a  foe  who  had  crossed  her  path. 

The  detective  had  proceeded  but  a  short  distance  whon  the 
latter  conjecture  was  verified.  It  became  a  single  trail,  and 
several  foot-prints  that  our  hero  discovered  were  deeply  do- 
pressed  in  a  spot  where  the  soil  was  soft,  showing  that  tho 
maker  of  the  foot-prints  might  possibly  be«carrying  a  heavy 
burden. 

Calculating  the  fact  that  the  trail  had  become  a  single  one,  our 
hero  reasoned  that  the  man  had  seized  hold  of  the  girl,  had  pro 
bably  stifled  her  cries,  and  was  forcibly  carrying  her  in  his  arms. 

Macon  Moore  increased  his  speed  and  it  was  not  long  before 
he  was  rewarded  by  a  most  singular  discovery. 

He  heard  a  wild,  agonized  shriek;  it  was  just  one  cry,  shrill 
and  piercing,  and  the  shrieker  was  not  far  away.  The  d'etective 
leaped  through  the  bush  and  emerged  upon  an  opening  where  a 
green  sward  was  spread  between  three  lines  of  trees  and  brush. 

The  detective  had  struck  his  quarry;  he  had  trailed  to  win. 

On  the  center  of  the  green  stood  a  man,  and  in  his  arms  he 
clasped  Lucy  Bridges. 

One  glance  was  sufficient;  the  girl  had  fallen  into  insensibility. 

The  detective  sprang  across  the  intervening  space  and  con 
fronted  a  huge  negro. 

The  moment  the  black  saw  the  detective  he  let  the  girl  fall 
from  his  arms  to  the  ground,  and  a  series  of  fearful  oaths  fell 
from  his  lips  as  he  drew  a  knife  and  exclaimed: 

"Go  way  dar,  white  man,  or  I  kill  you,  shuah!" 

"You  black  villain,  how  dare  you  assault  that  lady!  Stand 
aside,  or  I  will  kill  you!" 


THE   SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  151 

"Go  way,  white  man;  go  way,  I  tell  yer,  or,  golly,  I'se  gwine 
ter  kill  yer,  shuah!" 

Macon  Moore  was  not  the  man  to  recoil  from  any  danger,  and 
leveling  his  revolver,  he  exclaimed: 

"  Drop  that  knife,  or  I'll  drop  you!" 

Upon  seeing  the  leveled  pistol  the  huge  negro  uttered  a  cry 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  exclaimed: 

"Lookout  dar!  lookout!  dis  yere  chile  ain't  afeered  of  no 
pistol,  and  if  yer  don't  go  way  I'se  boun'  ter  kill  yer!" 

The  detective  observed  that  the  fair  girl  lying  upon  the  ground 
was  showing  signs  of  returning  consciousness,  and  he  advanced 
two  or  three  steps  closer  to  the  negro. 

The  latter  suddenly  leaped  forward  and  brought  his  knife 
around  with  a  curve-stroke  like  the  swing  of  a  cimeter  in  the 
hands  of  an  Oriental. 

Had  Macon  Moore  been  an  ordinary  man,  and  unused  to 
deadly  encounters,  he  would  most  assuredly  have  fallen  a  victim 
to  the  fierce  negro's  knife-thrust.  Fortunately,  he  was  experi 
enced  and  cool,  and,  besides,  well  posted  concerning  the  negro 
peculiarity  in  always  making  a  curve-cut. 

The  lithe,  agile,  and  quick-eyed  Moore  slipped  as  gracefully 
under  the  giant  black  man's  arm  as  a  skillful  swimmer  curves 
under  the  crest  of  an  incoming  breaker,  and  as  the  blow  went 
over  his  head  the  detective,  who  was  prepared  for  the  maneu 
ver,  countered  on  his  antagonist  in  a  most  surprising  manner. 

As  our  readers  will  remember,  Macon  Moore,  although  a  man 
of  slender  build,  was  nevertheless  possessed  of  great  physical 
power.  He  was  as  quick  upon  his  feet  as  a  professional  wrestler, 
and  equally  as  ready  with  his  hands.  Thus,  as  he  dodged  under 
the  negro's  arm,  he  gathered  himself,  and,  with  the  barrel  of  his 
pistol  firmly  grasped  in  liis  hand,  dealt  his  antagonist  a  stun 
ning  blow  on  the  back  of  the  head. 

The  huge  negro  fell  forward  upon  his  face,  and  ere  he  could 
regain  his  feet,  the  detective  was  upon  him  and  had  dealt  him  a 
number  of  blows  on  the  particular  spot  that  will  cause  even  an 
African  to  lie  still. 

Once  more  had  our  hero  come  out  of  a  scrimmage  victorious; 
and,  seizing  Lucy  in  his  arms,  he  retraced  his  steps  towards  the 
road. 

In  the  meantime  Lucy  had  fully  revived  and  told  the  particu 
lars  of  her  startling  adventui'e. 

The  girl  had  not  passed  a  hundred  yards  away  from  our  hero's 
side,  when  suddenly  she  felt  herself  seized  from  behind;  a  hand 
was  pressed  over  her  lips  t«  prevent  an  outcry,  and  she  was  hur 
ried  along  by  her  captor,  who  still  prevented  her  from  giving  an 
alarm. 

When  some  distance  from  the  spot  where  he  had  first  over- 


152  MACON  MOORE, 

taken  her,  the  negro  had  raised  her  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
rapidly  along  until  they  reached  the  opening  where  the  detective 
overtook  them. 

It  was  at  the  moment  the  negro  was  letting  her  down  from  his 
huge  embrace  that  the  girl  found  an  opportunity  to  utter  one 
piercing  cry,  when  she  sank  into  unconsciousness,  and  what  fol 
lowed  was  a  blank  to  her. 


CHAPTEE  XLVIII. 

THE   DETECTIVE'S    HOPE. 

The  detective  listened  to  the  girl's  story,  and  rejoiced  to  think 
that  after  all  how  fortunate  had  been  the  termination  of  the 
strange  adventure. 

The  thought  came  to  him,  as  a  shudder  swept  over  his  sensi 
tive  frame,  concerning  the  lovely  girl's  possible  fate  had  the  party 
he  had  awaited  on  the  road  have  proved  to  be  enemies  and  pur 
suers. 

Having  told  her  story,  the  girl  asked: 

"  Did  the  horseman  on  the  road  ride  by  without  discovering 
you?" 

'No;  they  discovered  me." 
'And  how  did  you  escape  them?" 
'  I  did  not  try  to  escape  them." 
'  Did  they  turn  out  to  be  friends?" 
'Yes." 

'  How  fortunate!" 

'Indeed,  you  may  exclaim,  'How  fortunate,'  my  dear  girl, 
for  Heaven  only  knows  what  might  have  been  the  result  had  they 
been  pursuers." 

The  two  had  reached  the  road  and  walked  along  towards  the 
house  whore  refuge  awaited  them. 

"\Yhon  in  sight  of  the  house,  the  detective  said: 
"  Lucy,  your  father  awaits  you  in  yonder  house." 
The  girl's  agitation  was  so  great  our  hero  regretted  having 
spoken  so  abruptly,  but  a  fow  moments  later,  when  he  saw  the 
lovely  girl  clasped  in  hor  father's  arms,  all  regrets  vanished. 

Maeon  Moore  had  been  almost  incessantly  on  duty.  He  had 
partaken  of  but  little  food,  and  had  indulged  in  only  occasional 
cat-naps,  and,  strong  man  as  he  was,  he  felt  the  necessity  of 
rest. 

Aftor  a  long  consultation  with  Selton  Beeves,  the  two  men 
agreed  upon  a  plan  of  action. 

Our  hero  had  gathered  all  the  information  he  required  con 
cerning  the  criminals  he  had  been  piping. 


THE  SOUTHEEN  DETECTIVE.  153 

The  hour  had  come  for  a  grand  denouement,  as  he  felt  assured 
that  he  not  only  had  his  men  piped  down,  but  could  produce 
sufficient  evidence  to  break  up  the  whole  combination  of  illicit 
traffickers. 

Selton  Reeves,  at  the  termination  of  the  consultation,  rode 
away  with  his  companions,  and  our  hero  availed  himself  of  an 
invitation  to  retire  to  rest. 

The  interests  of  our  story  do  not  demand  that  we  should  de 
tail  all  the  expressions  of  gratitude  that  were  showered  upon 
our  hero  by  the  father  and  daughter,  for  whom  he  had  performed 
such  a  wonderful  service. 

Both  Mr.  Bridges  and  his  daughter  expressed  their  gratitude 
in  the  most  earnest  manner,  and  the  detective  listened  impa 
tiently  to  their  expressions.  The  balance  of  the  night  passed 
without  the  occurrence  of  any  startling  incident. 

It  was  far  into  the  day  when  the  detective  appeared  among 
his  friends. 

He  had  taken  a  much-needed  rest,  and  was  prepared  for  the 
thrilling  scenes  and  startling  incidents  that  were  to  follow. 

Toward  dusk  on  the  day  following  the  incidents  above  de 
tailed,  a  horseman  rode  up  to  the  house  where  the  detective  had 
been  resting. 

The  rider  was  Selton  Keeves,  and  our  hero  met  him  with  the 
inquiiy: 

"  Well,  have  you  news?" 

"Indeed  I  have." 

"  The  whisky  men  are  prepared  to  resume  business,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"Indeed  they  are,  but  to-night  they  have  set  apart  for  a 
tragedy."  , 

"  Who  is  their  intended  victim? 

"Young  Bader." 

"What!     Will  Yenni  dare  murder  that  poor  youth?" 

"  The  execution  is  to  take  place  this  very  night." 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  Valley  of  Death." 

"How  fortunate!"  said  the  detective. 

"Then  you  wish  to  have  the  young  man  die?" 

"No." 

"  Then  why  is  it  fortunate?" 

"  All  the  riders  will  be  assembled." 

"That  is  so  conceded,"  said  Beeves. 

"And  the  hour  has  come  to  close  in  on  them;  but  I  am  sur 
prised  that  Yenni  would  dare  permit  the  young  man  to  be  mur 
dered." 

"They  will  dare  anything  now." 

"How  so?" 


154  MACON  MOORE, 

"They  believe  you  dead!" 

"Aha!  I  thought  so!" 

"  Indeed,  they  will  hold  a  jubilee/' 

"They  will,  eh?" 

"  That  is  their  intention." 

"  Well,  their  jubilee  will  be  interrupted  by  a  ghost!"  was  the 
detective's  significant  response. 

The  two  men  had  been  standing  on  the  lawn,  and  there  were 
no  listeners  to  their  consultation. 

"At  what  hour  do  they  assemble?"  asked  Macon  Moore. 

"At  the  usual  hour — midnight." 

"  And  have  you  the  reserves?" 

"I  have." 

"  It's  two  hours  and  a  half  ride  from  here  to  the  valley?" 

"  The  ride  could  be  accomplished  in  that  time." 

"  And  where  have  you  the  passes?" 

""Within  half  an  hour's  ride  of  the  place  of  meeting." 

"We  will  to  horse  at  once!"  exclaimed  the  detective,  in  tones 
like  a  knight  of  old. 

Our  hero  entered  the  house  and  exchanged  a  few  words  with 
Mr.  Bridges,  and  a  few  moments  later  was  alone  with  Lucy. 

In  his  usual  abrupt  manner,  he  said: 

"  I  may  never  see  you  again." 

The  startled  cry  that  burst  from  the  girl's  lips  told  volumes. 

"I  have  no  more  to  say  now,  but  if  I  do  return  I  may  have  a 
disclosure  to  make,"  said  the  detective. 

Lucy  had  recovered  her  composure,  and  managed  to  inquire, 
in  a  tolerably  steady  voice: 

"Where  do  you  go?" 

"  To  complete  the  work  that  brought  me  into  the  mountains." 

"  You  may  be  killed." 

"I  have  always  carried  my  life  in  my  hands,  and  the  chances 
against  me  now  are  no  greater  than  they  have  been  upon  many  a 
former  occasion." 

Lucy  was  a  spirited  girl,  and  she  said: 

"I  cannot  ask  you  to  refrain  from  the  performance  of  your 
duty." 

"You  are  a  girl  of  spirit,  Lucy,  and  I  am  proud  to  hear  you 
utter  those  words. " 

As  the  detective  spoke  he  seized  her  hand  and  gazed  in  a  mean 
ing  manner  into  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"  If  I  pass  the  perils  of  this  night  may  I  come  to  you  indulg 
ing  a  blessed  hope?" 

A  grand  expression  came  to  the  lovely  girl's  face  as  she  an 
swered  : 

"  I  cannot  misunderstand  your  words." 

"You  cannot?" 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIV7E.  155 

"  If  you  live,  the  reward  for  all  that  I  have  passed  through  is 
more  than  I  deserve;  the  honor  your  words  imply  fills  my  soul 
with  joy;  can  I  say  more?  I  shall  pray  for  your  safe  return  as 
woman  never  prayed  before." 

A  few  moments  later  and  our  hero  was  in  his  saddle  riding  to 
wards  the  perils  of  the  valley  of  Death,  and  in  his  heart  bloomed 
a  hope  that  had  never  bloomed  there  before. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A     WEIKD      SCENE. 

Macon  Moore  had  resolved  upon  a  "closing  in."  He  had  ga 
thered  sufficient  evidence  to  warrant  the  arrest  of  a  number  of 
ruling  spirits  among  the  whisky  men  and  night  riders. 

He  knew  that  it  was  a  desperate  undertaking,  but  he  still  fur 
ther  knew  that  he  would  be  sustained  by  the  moral  approval  of 
his  course  by  all  the  respectable  and  law-and-order-loving  people 
in  the  State. 

The  citizens  of  the  South  are  as  bitterly  opposed  to  lawless 
ness  as  any  other  people  in  the  United  States,  and  they  are  as 
ready  to  punish  criminals. 

Selton  Beeves  had  brought  our  hero  some  startling  intelli 
gence.  It  was  evident  that  the  "Mooners  "  believed  the  great 
detective  dead,  and  they  had  resolved  to  work  out  their  frater 
nity  revenges,  and  then  proceed  with  their  lawless  traffic,  be 
lieving  that  no  other  man  would  ever  dare  interfere  with 
them. 

Alas!  they  were  counting  "without  their  host."  At  the  very 
moment  they  were  gathering  in  the  Valley  of  Death  .the  shadow 
of  fate  was  hovering  o'er  them,  and  the  swift  wheels  of  justice 
were  revolving  to  grind  them  out  of  existence. 

The  detective  and  his'  companion  reached  the  vicinity  of  the 
dark-named  valley. 

Macon  Moore  knew  well  the  bearings  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  he  made  certain  arrangements,  the  thoroughness  of  which 
will  be  disclosed  as  onr  narrative  proceeds. 

Having  arranged  his  men,  it  became  necessary  for  the  deter 
mined  man  to  concert  some  plan  for  his  own  entrance  to  the  val 
ley.  The  time  had  now  come  for  the  grand  denouement  he  had 
in  store  for  the  criminals.  No  dramatic  transformation-scene  on 
the  mimic  stage  could  ever  equal  the  real  life  drama  the  detective 
had  prepared. 

The  Valley  of  Death  was  guarded  on  one  side  by  a  wall  of  rock 
rising  perpendicularly  two  hundred  feet;  on  all  other  sides  pick 
ets  guarded  the  passes  to  the  valley,  but  the  solid  wall  of  rock, 


156  MACON  MOORE. 

with  its  clear  surface  of  cold  stone,  was  considered  a  sufficient 
guard  of  itself. 

The  detective  knew  that  it  was  only  necessary  for  him  to  gain 
admission  to  the  valley,  when  he  could  mingle  with  the  riders, 
without  fear  of  detection,  until  a  certain  critical  moment;  and 
when  that  moment  arrived  he  would  be  prepared  to  ring  up  the 
curtain  on  his  grand  transformation  scene,  and  the  chances  were 
that  the  curtain  would  rise  on  a  real  and  not  a  mimic  tragedy. 

Our  hero  knew  of  a  path  to  the  surface  of  the  rock.  In  order 
to  pursue  the  path  he  had  to  cross  a  certain  opening  where  there 
was  a  chance  of  discovery,  and  discovery  at  that  particular  point 
meant  death;  the  man,  however,  had  dared  death  too  often  to 
recoil. 

He  started  upon  his  perilous  venture,  and  fortune  favored 
him.  He  passed  the  exposed  spot  and  gained  the  verge  of  the 
wall.  Having  come  prepared  for  a  descent  to  the  valley,  he 
made  no  delay. 

Macon  Moore  was  light  of  frame,  but  strong  and  muscular, 
and  it  was  without  the  least  trepidation  that  he  let  himself  over 
the  side  of  the  rock  by  a  rope,  and  noiselessly  slid  down  the  two 
hundred  feet  to  its  base. 

The  man  was  now  face  to  face  with  the  real  peril;  one  false 
step  meant  death.  It  might  be  that  his  death  would  be  almost 
immediately  revenged,  but  then  he  would  have  fallen  a  martyr  to 
his  wonderful  success. 

As  the  detective  crawled  towards  the  spot  where  the  gang  was 
assembled,  a  strange  and  suggestively  tragic  scene  was  re 
vealed. 

The  men  were  all  masked;  lights  were  stiick  in  the  clefts  of 
rocks  and  trees,  and  cast  a  lurid  glare  over  the  weird  scene. 

Judge  Lynch  had  opened  court.  In  the  midst  of  a  circle  of 
masked  men  stood  young  Bader.  The  latter  was  unmasked,  and 
his  pale  face  shone  under  the  lurid  glare  of  the  lamp. 

The  strange  trial  had  but  just  commenced.  Selph  Tracy  was 
the  accuser. 

The  rider  detailed  how  he  had  been  met  on  the  road,  and  how 
he  had  been  assailed  and  left  hors  de  combat,  while  the  traitor  had 
ridden  away  with  his  horse. 

After  the  man  had  made  his  charge,  young  Bader  asked  one 
question : 

"  How  is  it,"  said  he,  "  that  I  would  wish  to  gain  his  number 
when  I  was  already  numbered  myself  ?" 

"  You  wished  to  fasten  the  stigma  of  your  own  treachery  upon 
me,"  was  the  answer. 

A  low,  fierce  murmur  proved  that  there  was  no  sympathy 
among  those  false  men  for  the  mere  boy  who  was  being  tried  for 
his  life. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  157 

The  next  witnesses  were  the  men  who  had  been  delegated  to 
murder  the  prisoners,  Selton  Beeves  and  his  companions. 

They  told  how  they  had  been  sold  out,  and  how  they  had  been 
confronted  at  the  critical  moment  by  their  arch  enemy,  Macon 
Moore. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  this  latter  charge?"  came  the  query 
from  the  masked  man  who  was  acting  as  judge. 

The  young  man  told  the  true  story,  and  his  narration  was  re 
ceived  with  jeers,  curses,  and  the  most  blasphemous  invectives. 

When  the  tumult  had  subsided  the  judge  asked: 

"Have  you  any  witnesses  to  substantiate  your  story?" 

The  query  was  a  mere  mockery,  and  yet  the  young  man  an 
swered  : 

"I  have  a  witness!" 

"  Who  is  your  witness?" 

"The  God  in  heaven  who  made  me,  and  before  whom  I  am 
so  soon  to  appear!" 

Another  volley  of  jeers  and  curses  followed  this  solemn  ap 
peal. 

"Have  you  no  other  witness?" 

"  I  have  no  other  witness." 

"  Well,  the  witness  you  have  named  cannot  avail  you  in  this 
court." 

"  Sentence  him!"  came  the  demand. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say,  young  man,  before  sentence  is 
passed  upon  you?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  am  an  innocent  man  as  far  as  your 
charges  against  me  are  concerned;  and  I  am  only  guilty  in  ever 
having  allied  myself  with  such  a  miserable  gang  of  assassins  and 
cut-throats!" 

Terrible  were  the  yells*  that  followed  this  bold  declaration ; 
pistols  were  drawn,  and  the  gleaming  blades  of  many  bowie- 
knives  flashed  under  the  glare  of  the  torches. 

A  rude  gallows  had 'been  prepared  for  the  carrying  out  of 
the  unjust  sentence  of  that  irresponsible  and  self-constituted 
court. 

"If  you  have  nothing  further  to  say,  I  will  proceed  to  sen 
tence  you!"  said  the  masked  judge. 

At  that  moment  a  strange  flash  of  light  for  an  instant  shot  like 
a  meteor  across  the  valley. 

The  men  stood  awe-struck  for  a  second,  and  were  only  re 
assured  when  some  one  called  out: 

"  It  was  a  shooting  star!" 

The  judge  rose,  and  was  about  to  pronounce  sentence;  an 
awful  silence  prevailed,  broken  only  by  the  whir  and  flutter  of 
the  blazing  torches. 

Suddenly  a  most  thrilling  incident  occurred. 


158  MACON  MOOEE, 

A  masked  man  stepped  from  amid  the  ranks  of  the  grouped 
riders,  and  took  a  position  before  the  judge,  beside  the 
prisoner. 

A  murmur  of  amazement  arose  as  the  masked  man  said: 
"I  am  here  to  give  evidence  in  favor  of  this  young  man!" 


CHAPTEE  L. 

THE    WOKK     DONE. 

The  murmur  of  amazement  increased  in  volume  upon  hearing 
these  startling  words. 

"Who  are  you?"  came  the  inquiry  from  the  judge,  when  the 
murmur  had  subsided. 

"  I  am  a  witness." 

"What  can  you  testify  to,  man?" 

The  judge  spoke  in  a  tremulous  and  excited  tone. 

"I  know  who  the  real  culprit  was — who  was  guilty  of  the  acts 
imputed  to  this  young  man." 

"  Can  you  name  him?" 

"lean." 

"Can  you  prove  your  charges?" 

"lean." 

"  Who  was  the  man?" 

"Macon  Moore." 

A  wild  and  bitter  chorus  of  curses  arose,  and,  when  the  noise 
was  quieted,  the  judge  demanded,  in  a  strange  voice: 

"Can  you  produce  the  guilty  man?" 

"lean." 

"When?" 

"Now." 

"  Wh^ere  is  he?" 

"He  is  here!"  and  as  the  detective  spoke  he  threw  off  his 
mask,  and  stood  revealed  before  the  gang  of  armed  assassins. 

They  had  all  supposed  the  detective  dead;  had  they  not  so 
suspected,  his  bold  appearance  among  them  would  not  have 
amazed  them  to  a  condition  amounting  to  momentary  paralyza- 
tion;  but  when  his  appearance  came  upon  them  in  the  absolute 
belief  in  his  death,  the  astonishment  acted  as  though  death  had 
suddenly  frozen  the  blood  in  the  veins  of  every  man  present. 

It  was  while  this  momentary  paralyzation  prevailed  that  the 
detective  drew  a  pistol  and  fired. 

Instantly  there  came  a  great  shout  in  the  rear,  and  a  body  of 
men  came  pouring  through  the  narrow  gorge  which  was  the 
main  entrance  to  the  Valley  of  Death. 

Indeed  it  proved  to  be  a  Valley  of  Death. 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  159 

The  riders  were  a  desperate  band  of  men;  they  were  men  of 
courage  and  used  to  blood  and  combat,  and  they  were  all  well 
armed. 

A  fusillade  of  pistol-balls  whizzed  over  the  head  of  the  detec 
tive.  The  balls  whizzed  over  the  head  of  the  detective  because 
"the  moment  he  had  fired  his  pistol  he  dropped  to  the  earth. 

After  the  first  shot  the  assassins  were  compelled  to  change 
their  aim,  as  the  men  who  had  come  rushing  in  through  the 
gorge  were  blazing  away  in  their  midst. 

A  fierce  fight  followed.  The  battle,  however,  was  of  short 
duration;  some  had  been  killed,  others  wounded,  and  still 
others  had  run  the  gauntlet,  pistol  in  hand,  and  had  escaped. 

The  detective's  closing  in  had  been  a  bloody  one,  but  its  re 
sults  were  complete. 

A  number  of  prisoners  had  been  secured. 

While  the  battle  had  been  raging,  Macon  Moore,  amid  bullets 
and  knife-thrusts,  had  been  securing  prisoners. 

He  had  made  a  dash  to  secure  the  masked  judge,  and  had  al 
most  lost  his  life,  as  the  masked  man  had  blazed  away  at  him  at 
close  range.  The  detective's  wonderful  fortune  had  remained 
true  to  him,  however;  the  ball  missed  him,  and  he  called  upon 
the  man  to  surrender. 

The  man,  however,  knew  that  death  was  preferable  to  capture, 
and  he  would  have  fired  again,  but  his  weapon  was  knocked 
from  his  grasp.  At  once  he  drew  his  bowie-knife,  and  with  a 
bitter  curse  he  dashed  at  the  detective. 

"  Colonel  Yenni,  I  call  upon  you  to  surrender!"  called  out 
Macon  Moore. 

The  detective's  only  answer  was  a  knife-thrust,  and  no  alter 
native  remained  to  him;  it  was  fight  or  die,  kill  or  be  killed. 

A  desperate  hand-to-h*nd  duel  followed,  and  in  a  few  sec 
onds  resulted  in  the  arch  leader  of  the  riders  throwing  up  his 
hands  and  falling  back  a  corpse.  . 

The  sanguinary  fighfr  was  over. 

The  detective's  posse  secured  torches  and  examined  the  faces 
of  the  dead. 

The  first  mask  removed  revealed  the  dark  features  of  Arteaga. 
Seven  men  were  found  dead  and  five  were  wounded;  while  six 
prisoners  had  been  made  of  men  who  were  unharmed. 

The  detective's  work  was  done. 

The  prisoners  were  taken  to  the  nearest  county  town  and 
lodged  in  jail,  and  upon  the  following  day  the  dead  were  cared 
for  by  their  friends. 

It  went  out  to  the  world  that  the  government  agents  had  had 
a  desperate  encounter  with  the  Moonshiners,  and  that  a  number 
of  men  had  been  killed  on  both  sides. 

The  silent  tragedy  connected  with  the  raid  did  not  become 


160  MACON  MOORE, 

public,  and  although  in  the  local  papers  many  curious  details 
were  furnished,  the  true  facts  were  suppressed. 

The  first  of  the  discovery  that  the  supposed  rich  Spaniard, 
Arteaga,  was  really  a  former  slave,  was  the  only  romantic  fact 
disclosed. 

Three  months  passed  away. 

The  illicit  traffic  in  that  particular  locality  had  received  a 
blow  from  which  it  never  recovered,  and  peace  and  security  to 
private  rights  pervade  the  whole  district. 

The  prisoners  captured  upon  the  fatal  night  in  the  Valley  of 
Death  were  all  tried  in  due  time,  and  sentenced  according  to 
their  deserts,  Macon  Moore,  the  detective,  being  the  principal 
witness  against  them. 

The  detective  did  not  return  to  Lucy  Bridges  on  the  following 
day  as  he  had  promised,  and,  indeed,  circumstances  prevented 
him  from  calling  upon  her  at  all  until  nearly  six  months  had 
passed. 

In  the  meantime  the  good  pastor  had  returned  to  his  people, 
and  had  told  a  few  of  the  facts  attending  his  wonderful  ad 
ventures  since  his  singular  disappearance  from  among  them. 

Lucy  had  watched  the  papers  as  they  came  to  her  through 
the  mail,  and  read  the  many  comments  upon  the  adventures  of 
the  man  who  had  rescued  her  from  a  most  terrible  fate. 

The  girl  had  once  indulged  a  fond  hope,  but  as  the  weeks  and 
months  slipped  away,  and  she  received  no  word  from  the  man 
Avho  had  parted  from  her  on  the  night  when  his  grand  closing- 
in  took  place  in  such  a  strange  manner,  all  her  hope  died  out, 
and  she  came  to  think  that  she  had  misunderstood  the  intent  of 
his  strange  words. 

The  beautiful  girl  made  up  her  mind  that  she  had  deluded 
herself,  and  resolved  that  her  secret  should  never  be  known;  but 
she  realized  that  a  bright  gleam  of  prospective  happiness,  the 
happiness  of  a  great  love  had  shown  in  upon  her  heart,  and  had 
then  vanished  away — vanished  forever. 

Months  had  passed  since  the  lovely  girl  had  put  aside  her 
fond  dream,  as  she  supposed  forever,  when  one  bright  afternoon 
she  sat  upon  the  porch  of  her  father's  humble  cottage,  a  horse 
man  drove  up,  and  dismounting,  hitched  his  horse  to  the  check- 
post. 

The  fair  girl  gave  one  glance,  and  the  lost  gleam  shone  once 
again  in  her  heart,  the  lost  chord  sounded  once  more  a  melody 
of  joy  in  her  ears. 

The  horseman  was  the  strange,  wonderful  man,  Macon 
Moore,  and  how  handsome  and  hero-like  he  looked  as  he  came 
up  the  path  towards  the  fair  girl,  to  whom  he  said,  in  his  usual 
cool  and  steady  manner: 


THE  SOUTHERN  DETECTIVE.  161 

"I  could  not  come  sooner,  my  darling,  but  I  am  here  now, 
and  may  God's  blessing  rest  upon  you  and  yours!" 

Header,  the  words  "my  darling"  tell  the  whole  of  what  re 
mains  of  our  romance,  and  we  may  only  add  that  when  the  light 
of  love  and  hope  returned  to  Lucy  Bridges  it  came  a  fadeless 
light,  to  remain  until  lost  in  the  light  of  eternal  joy. 


THE  END, 


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98.  THE  FUGITIVES.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant  .  .«.  ....................   ioc 

99.  HER  FACE  TO  -THE  FOE.     By  Mary  N.  Holmes  ............  ioc 

100.  FOR  LOVE  OR  GOLD  ?      By  Miss  Jennie  S.  Alcott  ........  2oc 

101.  THAT  AMAZING   PROFESSOR  ..........................    ioc 

102.  A  HAPPY  RELEASE.     By  the  author  of  "Constance  Dare."  ioc 

103.  HER   DARING  VENTURE.     By  the  author  of  "  Mildred's 

Mistake."  .............................................    ioc 

104.  THE  FIGURE  IN  THE  CORNER.     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon.  ioc 

105.  DARKEST  BEFORE  DAWN  .............................   ioc 

106.  LADY  AUDLEY'S  SECRET.      By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon  ......  2oc 

107.  "CASH  SEVENTEEN."     By  Sophy  S.  Burr  ................   ioc 


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25.  IN  PRISON  AND  OUT.     By  Hesba  Stretton loc 

26.  HISTORY  OF  A  THREEPENNY  BIT.     By  J.  W.  Kirton loc 

27.  FROGGY'S  LITTLE  BROTHER.     By  Brenda 150 

28.  WINDOW  CURTAINS.     By  T.  S.  Arthur 2Oc 

29.  A  THORNY  PATH.     By  Hesba  Stretton loc 

30.  THE  POOR  CLERK  AND  HIS  CROOKED  SIXPENCE. 

By  George  E.  Sargent IOC 

31.  NINETY-NINE  CHOICE  READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS. 

No.  I.     Compiled  by  J.  S.  Ogilvie IOC 

32.  THE  LITTLE  CAPTAIN.     By  Lynde  Palmer loc 

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NINETY-NINE 


OIEIOIOIE! 

Recitations  and  Headings, 

EDITED  BY  J.  S.  OGILVIE. 

12  mo.,  126  pages.   Paper  Cover,  25  cents;  Handsomely  Bound 
in  Cloth,  50  cents. 

This  is  a  choice  collection  of  Recitations  and  Readings,  which  have  been 
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bath  Schools,  and  Adult  and  Juvenile  organizations,  Young  People's  Asso 
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PAGE 

Budd's  Christmas  Stocking 11 

Blue  and  Gray— The 49 

Bureau  Drawer — The 72 

Brown's  Mistake 95 

Brother  Gardner  on  Happiness.  104 

Cutting  a  Boy's  Hair 18 

Caldwell  at  Springfield 52 

Citizen's  Soliloquy— The 108 

Dying  Newsboy— The 13 

Drop  and  be  Hanged 14 

Dot  Baby  of   Mine 35 

Disturbing  the  Meeting 53 

Don't  Propose 74 

Dropping  into  Poetry 96 

Episode  of  the  War— An 110 

Fireman— The 27 

Fanny  and  1 66 

Gwine  Away .  51 

God  BleSs  Our  School 81 

How  He  Baptized  Them.  f. 43 

He  Wanted  Some  Scenery 48 

How  He  Went  to  the  Wedding. . .  54 

House-Top  Saint— The    77 

Incident  of  Gettysburg— An 22 

Incident  on  the  Cars — An 70 

In  the  Mining  Town 88 

Jones— Miss  and  the  Burglar. ...  85 

john  DarrylTs  Dream 105 

Knight  of  Honor's  Burial— The..  36 

Kelly's  Ferry 63 

Little  Ragamuffin— A 17 

Lawyer  Green 20 

Legend  of  the  Christmas  Tree. . .  29 

Lime  Kiln  Club— The 41 

Lips   that   Touch    Liquor   Must 

Never  Touch  Mine— The 61 

Lucky  Horse  Shoe— The 68 

Left  Behind...                                 .  93 


PAGE 

Loved    Papa    When    Will    You 

Come  Home  Again  1 110 

Little  Phil...  112 

Last  Hair  Pin— The 115 

Last  Drink— The 117 

Man  with  a  Glass  Eye— The 60 

Measuringthe  Baby 91 

Old  Parson's  Story— The 47 

Old  Woman  to  the  Veteran— The    75 

On  a  Rich  Man's  Table 94 

Old  Testament  Books— The 100 

One  of  the  Little  Ones 119 

Perkins— Mr.  at  the  Dentist's 24 

Playing  Drunkard 45 

Pinch  Bug— The 67 

Popping  the  Question 89 

Please  don't  Sell  my  Father  Rum  102 

She  Made  a  Mistake 12 

Speckled  Hen— The 16 

Soldier's  Prayer— The 22 

San  Francisco  Auctioneer — The.    58 
Spoopendyke— Mr.  explains  the 

Weather  Bureau 83 

Sable  Theology 99 

Silver  Plate— The 113 

Somebody's  Darling 121 

Tom  O'Connor's  Cat 31 

That  Cabbage...  45 

Taking  Toll...  .    62 

They  Didn't  Think 107 

Things  in  the  Bottom  Drawer — 

The 109 

Varnish  and  Putty 50 

Widow  and  Her  Only  Child— The      9 
What  Strong  Drinks  Will  Do. ...    26 

Wrong  Woman— The 28 

Widder  Green's  Last  Words 57 

WhoDidlt...  86 

Why  He  Wouldn't  Die 114 


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The  following:  is  the  List  of  the  Pieces  in  No.  I. 

CONTENTS  OF  NUMBER  ONE. 

i  Cannot  Sing  the  Old  Songs.  Her  Bright  Smile. 

Within  a  Mile  of  Edinboro'  Town.  Oft  in  the  Stilly  Night. 

Scenes  that  are  Brightest.  Thou  art  Gone  from  My  Gaze. 

When  the  Swallows  Homeward  Fly.  We  Met  by  Chance. 

Shells  of  the  Ocean.  The  Old  Arm-Chair. 

Annie  O'  the  Banks  O'  Dee.  Katy's  Letter. 

Robin  Adair.  Mary  of  Argyle. 

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THE 

ALBUM  WRITERS    FRISKD 

Compiled  by  J.  S.  OG1LVIE. 
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BLUNDERS 


".DJLU 

OF  A 


BASHFUL  MAN. 


By  the  Popular  Author  of  "A  BAD  BOY'S  DIARY." 

This  is  one  of  the  most  humorous  books  ever  issued,  and  has  been 
pronounced  better  than  "A  BAD  BOY'S  DIARY."  12mo,  160  pages, 
handsomely  illustrated  from  original  designs,  including  also  the 
portrait  and  autograph  of  "The  Bashful  Man."  Price,  paper 
cover,  25  cents.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  60  cents. 

How  the  reading  of  it  affected  ONE  YOUNG  LADY.     . 

MARYSYILLE,  Mo.,  July  22,  issi. 
Author  of  "  BASHFUL  MAN." 

Dear  Friend— Having  read  your  story  of  the  "  BASHFUL  MAN,"  and  seeing 
the  Invitation  at  the  close  or  the  same,  and  after  studying  the  matter  over  for 
a  short  time,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  the  very  girl  for  you ;  myself 
toeing  of  good  family  and  an  expert  In  cooking  and  everything  pertaining  to 
nouse-work.  I  am  not  an  old  maid  or  anything  of  that  sort,  but  am  just  in 
the  prime  of  life— my  next  birthday  will  be  nineteen ;  I  am  of  medium  height, 
and,  If  I  do  say  It  myself,  good  looking.  Now,  wanting  to  get  a  good  husband, 
and  thtnklng  you  would  suit  me,  I  am  at  your  service.  If  you  think  I  will  do. 
just  drop  me  a  few  lines,  and  I  will  then  tell  further  what  I  can  do.  Till  then 

I  remain,  sincerely  yours, 

ANNA  D.  H    •    "     •    * 
P.S.— Please  write  any  way.— ANNA. 

« 

The  original  of  the  above  letter  is  on  file  at  the  office  of  the 
Publishers. 

The  book  is  for  sale  by  booksellers  and  newsdealers  every 
where,  or  it  will  oe  mailed  on  receipt  of  25  cents  for  the  paper 
cover  edition,  or  60  cents  for  the  cloth.  Address 

J,  S.  OGILVIE  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

25  ROSE  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 

I  P.  O.  Box  2767. 


LOS  ANGELES 

T  TRK  ARY 


V.  009 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  242  035  2 


